


Leonalta

by erobey



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 11:04:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erobey/pseuds/erobey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Elladan and Legolas came to be mates, dark and sad, but ends well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Homecoming on a Moonless Night

#  _Leonalta_

____  
by erobey  
unbeta'd 

 

## Introduction: Homecoming on a Moonless Night

The last of the night lingered, clinging to the heavens with such peculiar tenacity that he wondered if the day would be grey and tired, as old in manner as Arda truly was. Elrond frowned, holding aside the heavy damasked draperies shielding his bedroom from the open air of the second story porch. The sky did indeed look heavy, laden in layers of sullen clouds that refused to show so much as a chink for the dimming stars to peep through. He sighed; this was not going to be a good day. Deep in his marrow he felt it; Elladan and Elrohir would be coming home and to this event was attached the inexorable tension of nervous nameless dread building in his mind.

He moved out onto the spacious balcony overlooking his beloved refuge and tasked himself to conjure a positive demeanour. Did he dare to count the number of times he had experienced a joyous sensation in the half-lit dawn? It seemed almost a challenge to fate to try and in the irrational part of his mind he could imagine events growing worse in inverse proportion to the number of pleasing recollections he might produce. Yet he cherished highly each memory of those happy homecomings and tallying them was a far better enterprise than accounting his sons' less resplendent returns to Imladris.

What father could tire of it, though he might see it a thousand times? Indeed, in the days since their adulthood, Elrond had taken to breaking fast on the balcony, hoping to hear not the cheerful notes of a lark or the warbling song of a finch but the tumult of galloping hooves and his sons' shouts of triumphant glee or, rarer, a merry song from days of old when it was yet the spring-time of the elven folk, long long years before ever they were conceived.

They always returned at dawn; it was their custom, their habit. Neither ever felt the need to explain it and Elrond had not been curious enough to ask the reason. Or perhaps he was too fearful to hear it spoken. They understood without the words:  _'Look for us at minuial, as Anor first breaks the horizon we shall be there.'_  There was no need to vocalise that which action had ingrained into unshakeable anticipation.

It went both ways; they came to expect that he would as faithfully be watching for them. It was the first thing they did, tip their heads up to seek his eyes, each one smiling in his own distinct way that was uncannily identical to the other's. Should they ever ride through the gate at dawn and find their Adar not seated there, what doom would that express to their hearts?

It had happened, of course, but Imladris was more fortunate than some places, more protected, better concealed. Seldom had Elrond failed to be at his post to welcome Elladan and Elrohir back to the Last Homely House.

Likewise, few had been those dark times when their advent occurred at some other hour: the deeps of the night, the subdued shadows of gloaming, or the stark brightness of noon, barely able to sit the horses or worse, one bearing the other insensate in his arms. Those were not the sort of events a parent would choose to recall, for those are the ones that rob a father of sleep and promote begging the Valar to spare him the pain of such loss, to spare his children any pain whatsoever.

_'Give it to me instead,'_  Elrond pleaded with regularity as consistent as Arien's daily journey. Is any parent unfamiliar with this desperate entreaty to the unseen forces haphazardly shaping fate? Elrond was accustomed to strife and sorrow, had known loss and defeat, despair and grief enough to humble mountains. This morning it was not a request.  _'Let such not visit them, Mighty Eru, preserve them in eternal ignorance of anguish or want.'_

A futile exercise, to be sure, yet he could not refuse to enact it, this ritual of bargaining for their protection. His soul spoke it with every dawn while awaiting their arrival and again whenever they rode out from Imladris to defend the weak and the innocent, to avenge their mother's torment, to assuage their unearned guilt.

_I wonder, what prayers do they quietly recite? What haggling have they done with Manwë and Vairë in the first heartbeats of a journey's beginning? Each beseech the very same thing, I would warrant: 'Protect my brother from all harm and when this task is done return him safely to our home. If it is just, let me be by his side. If not then make me his shield and blind his heart to the sorrow my demise must generate.' Something very like that, surely, for so did I pray for Elros' safekeeping and he, mine until the day of his passing._

Elrond shuddered and mentally shied from the image of his twin, a sharp surge of panic firing through his heart and doubling its rate. It was an ill omen to think on Elros when he held such fear for his sons' return. With a dreary sough the Lord of Imladris conceded defeat; once his brother entered his thoughts it was just as if Elros was yet living so vivid were the memories and so true the silent interchange between their minds. He never could banish these re-enactments; they were gifts and in a corner of his heart Elrond believed they genuinely came at his brother's prompting. Wherever men's spirits fled when their bodies failed, he had to hope it was a place connected to his reality. Elros could not be lost to him forever.

Elros had not hastened to his end nor had he dreaded it. When asked about preferring a human life he replied that he was ever an adventurer and here was a temptation he could not resist: a place where elves could not go. Mortality was of his own choosing, not because he wearied of the world or despaired of peaceful existence. He would know what secrets Eru had kept even from Manwë.

The Gift took him from Elrond and the pain was just as biting now as it had been the day his brother exhaled his final breath. A chilling sight it had been, and a recurrent nightmare, watching the light of intellect die away in Elros' grey eyes.

Elros' choice was inconceivable to the lore-master, for he deemed it too finite a division. Yet for the first Númenorian King mortality had granted a freedom to his actions and a lightness to his heart while he was living that Elrond could perceive even if he could not comprehend it. Indeed, it was many thousands of years after Elros' demise before Elrond began to even glimpse his brother's reasoning and the nature of his joy in such a fleeting existence.

Every instant of his life was crammed with a heightened intensity of experience, everything made more profound for its very rarity, for its ephemeral beauty.  _'Enjoy it now,' Elros' eyes sparkled as he spoke, 'for this moment will never be again, though you live unto the ending of the world.'_

Elrond smiled, recalling his confusion over this. He might indeed know the same event an uncountable multitude of times throughout his unending life and could not see an absolute benefit in experiencing a sensation but once. If something brought enjoyment and happiness, was it not best to promote such to occur over and over? Then again, it must be better to fend off a catastrophe, no matter how uncommon it might be, acting to prevent its recurrence.

_'They are the same things, adversity and prosperity, merely viewed from different perspectives,'_  Elros would try to explain.  _'All of this,'_  and here he would sweep his gnarled hand out over the glory of his human Kingdom, his long snowy hair accentuating his age-etched brow, grey eyes still fierce and piercing.  _'All of this is but a part of it, the Music, and the sombre notes do not detract from the magnificence of the symphony but give it fullness and enhance its beauty.'_

Enlightenment came to Elrond upon the birth of his sons. Never again would that instant be his, that moment when he looked for the first time into their innocent new-born eyes, heard their lungs exhale their indignation to be parted from the safety of their mother's womb, felt the feathery weight of their tiny bodies in his hands. Though overjoyed in their nativity, he had wept inconsolably. It was days before Celebrian would believe his promise that there was nothing amiss with them, that her babes were strong and healthy.

_That was almost an Age ago; why remind me of this again, muindor? Did I not learn that lesson well? Have I not watched over them with such intensity that it drove them from home at times?_

"Elrond? Is something wrong?"

The quiet voice startled the elven Lord and he turned sharply to find Erestor there, tray in hand, peering at him in evident concern. "Nay, I do not think so, or perhaps something is about to go wrong; I know not," a sigh and then: " I have just been communing with Elros."

"Ah," the seneschal set the tray upon the table and took a seat as was his habit. "It is the twins, then. Was the vision specific or one of those teasing riddles Elros so loved to devise when he was still with us bodily?" Mentally the worthy cohort of Imladris' Lord prepared himself. The morning's conversation would revolve around one topic only: the Choice. It was not Elrond's need to talk about it that vexed him but that there was nothing Erestor could do to ease his kinsman's fears.

"The vague, 'guess and I will give you clues' sort. My only certainty is that they will arrive today, dawn has not brought them through the gates, and thus I am concerned." Elrond sat as he uttered these statements and reached for his mug of tea, blowing across its tawny surface before tasting it.

"So I see." Erestor studied his friend closely. "You do not feel their loss, though, so that is promising. Mayhap it is not they who are in peril but someone close to them."

"Not Estel," Elrond shook his head emphatically, "although he is the most likely to be in need. Neither is Arwen suffering, nor her grandparents, for surely Galadriel would communicate such to me at once. Everyone else dear to them is here."

"That we know of, yet they lead lives for long years away from Imladris and there must be many mortals and elves they have befriended."

"I do not refute it, yet I say we would surely know of anyone so close to their hearts."

"Perhaps it is someone new and there has not been time for word to reach us. Half the letters never make it."

"Nay, it is something more. Whatever is happening is affecting them both deeply. I fear it is due to the Decision."

Erestor sighed and set his spoonful of blueberries back in the bowl of curds. "They would not make the Choice without speaking with you about it."

"They would if they had no other option, a life or death situation or…"

"Nearly every day they confront such conditions, Elrond, and have never been forced to choose thus. And I think we have narrowed it down quite succinctly now, do you not agree? Elrohir has chosen his fate and remains among the First Born. It is for Elladan you fear, as it has always been. What is different this time?"

"I do not know for certain Elrohir's decision; it is just something I saw in his eyes when Celebrian's boat sailed from Mithlond. He has yet to declare himself to me."

"The last time we discussed this it was agreed that he refrains from making any announcement so as not to pressure his brother."

"I am thinking now that was a foolish assumption. What chance is there he could conceal such a major decision from Elladan? They share one mind, are nearly of one soul."

"Did you know the moment Elros chose or did you have to hear it from his lips?" challenged Erestor, for he knew this answer better than anyone. He had been there to witness Elrond's desolate and bitter condemnations, his charges of abandonment and betrayal. He had refereed the brothers' heart wrenching arguments and consoled each in the aftermath of tears and curses. No, Elrond had not had a clue what Elros had chosen until the moment the words were spoken. Or rather, Elrond had convinced himself that his elder brother would never leave him, refusing to ever consider the possibility.

Elrond scowled and rose from the table, the morning meal untouched, but said nothing more. What was the point in arguing with Erestor when he could never win? Instead he dressed for the day and wandered out into the grounds of his estate, avoiding contact with his household and brooding over his sons' fates.

As was generally the case, Erestor's assessment was the correct one. Elrond had not worried over Elrohir nearly as much over the accumulating years since their birth. The youngest was always lighter of heart and less likely to bury hurts to his soul. Elrohir was quick to anger but even quicker to offer forgiveness or to ask for it as the circumstances warranted. He was the one more likely to be hasty in judgement but that was because his instincts proved true more often than not. He possessed a knack for sizing up a situation and reading hearts.

Few could deceive him and yet fewer still could genuinely say they knew him. If queried, people would remark on his winning smile and generous spirit, or his strength in battle and cleverness in tactics. Elrohir remained friendly with everyone until given reason not to be, yet this affability was more a shield for his inner self than a courtesy to others. Elrond expected Elrohir to choose early the life of the eldar, sure that his hesitation to speak had to do with Elladan's indecision rather than his own.

Elladan, on the other hand, moved through life like an advancing storm. Introverted and taciturn, moody, silent and brooding in expression of deep emotion, people tended to avoid the elder of Elrond's sons. He was called distant and unfeeling but such descriptions could not be more in error. Elladan was steadfast, strong, and true. He never wavered from his chosen course yet would step between his brother and harm without a second thought. His heart he kept hidden from all save those who had earned his trust, and that was a favour won with only great effort. Despite his seemingly dour personality, there were few elves in Arda more dauntless and fervently optimistic. No circumstances were ever hopeless in Elladan's eyes, there was always a way to overcome the odds, surrender was never an option.

_So very like Elros._

Celebrian had warned Elrond often during the elder twin's youth that this comparison was inaccurate. Nay, according to her Elladan was exactly like her husband in personality. How the Lord of Imladris had scoffed at that and even now, thinking on it, he snorted and shook his head. Not because he still disbelieved her words but rather in bemusement over his own blindness, for of course she had been right. Elrond sighed and found his steps had carried him up onto the high canyon wall overlooking the western approach to the hidden vale, seeking with his keen sight any sign of his sons' return.

Dusk was accumulating within the sky, coating everything with a filmy, eerie haze of half-lit colours and shortened depth before he relented to Glorfindel's insistent pestering and returned to the house. Elrond declined to eat with them and took root on the balcony, a lamp lit to provide enough light for reading, which he pretended to do when both his old friends insisted on waiting with him. They had brought books along too and all three sat there in silence, never turning a page, as the hours passed.

It was nearly midnight before the cacophonous pounding of hooves ended their vigil and drew them to their feet, all racing down the stairs and out to the courtyard to confront this doom, however bad it might be. They expected some new tragedy to weather and braced for it: one or the other of the twins must be upon the very borders of Námo's realm. In utter relief they beheld both Elladan and Elrohir tall and strong upon their chargers' backs. So great was Elrond's joy to see them both leap from their horses with equal grace that he scarcely took notice of the tightly wrapped figure Elladan carried in his arms.

Elladan did not stop to greet his father, racing instead for the healing wards, Elrohir only two strides behind, calling for aid. The three elder lords followed, Elrond at the fore, and he entered the room in time to see his eldest son gently lay his burden down and then kneel beside the bed. Elladan took up a pale, limp hand within his and squeezed, then leaned close to pull back the thick woollen cloak covering this unknown person, placing a kiss upon the forehead and murmuring soft encouragement into the elf's ear.

Elrond was so surprised he froze in the open doorway for a second, staring, before turning to Elrohir for explanation. The second-born of the twins only smiled sadly and motioned for his father to go to them. When he did, Elladan rose and faced Elrond, still clutching the slender fingers of the wounded elf, his fair features marred with tense desperation.

"You must heal him, Ada," he said quietly. "As you love me, do not let him die."

The longing and urgency in his eyes was so intense it stole away Elrond's breath and quelled any words he might think to say. Behind him, Glorfindel and Erestor's sharp intake of air upon hearing this was plainly audible. The advisors wisely retreated to give the family privacy and room to make the healing, knowing Elrond would explain when it was appropriate to do so.

Elladan returned to his place on his knees as a weak groan broke from the bed.

That was enough to jolt Elrond into action and he hastened to learn the seriousness of the damage. There was no clothing to remove and he found that was a blessing, though a disturbing one, for the battering was severe.

The renowned healer discovered three broken ribs and a fractured wrist that had also been bound in coarse rope so tightly the circulation had been stopped. One leg was nearly black from hip to ankle due to multiple compound fractures and two festering wounds that were poisoning the flesh. A foul stench arose form those injuries and Elrond worried if the damage had already gone too far to salvage the limb. He continued his examination, cataloguing the damage in a sombre and toneless voice.

The elf had been throttled, beaten, burned, whipped, stabbed with arrows, and violated. Elrond had not seen evidence of torture this horrendous in many centuries, especially on someone yet living. Though he was a seasoned warrior, veteran of some of the most vicious battles in history, and a physician to whom the most hopeless cases had been entrusted, the sight of these injuries turned his stomach. It crossed Elrond's mind that it would be better for this unfortunate creature had he not survived to know the extent of his defilement. A glance at Elrohir's woeful countenance revealed this was something he had also considered.

A sharp cry erupted from the victim's throat as Elrond probed the deep and nastily infected puncture in his left thigh. He thrashed against Elladan's hold, quite strongly despite his debilitated state, and Elrohir stepped in to help keep him steady so that the gash could be thoroughly drained and packed.

All the while, Elladan maintained a constant converse with the patient. "Do not stir yet," he consoled, hoping to ease the fears the treatment provoked in the febrile mind. "Sleep, you are in the best of care now. No one can harm you." He whispered softly these promises of peace and freedom, safety and comfort, companionship and family. "I will stay beside you and when you awaken I will be here. You are not alone."

As though to test the truth of the words, the broken warrior forced opened his eyes a fraction and focused them unerringly upon Elladan's. Elrond watched as his son positively beamed back into the agonised blue orbs, seeing the intelligent coherence therein. A minute twitch of swollen and cracked lips gave proof the injured ellon was equally pleased. His lids drooped as consciousness fled, but his hand remained tightly wrapped around Elladan's. The elder twin shared his smile with his father and brother as they returned to their painstaking labours.

By then they had turned the insensible elf on his side and Elrond was washing the inflamed and oozing lashes that covered his posterior from the base of his scull to the backs of his knees. There was dirt and offal ingrained into the overlapping cuts, though it was plain the twins had paused long enough in their flight to remove the worst of it. Where the flesh was not lacerated it was so deeply bruised the elf's skin colour was transformed into a darkly mottled purple and green hue. Elrond shook his head and sighed, certain everything they were doing would be for naught.

Hours passed; how many they could not determine, too engrossed in the healing to mark their passage. The helpless creature began to return to cognisance and emitted a thin wail with nearly every exhalation as Elrond strove to cleanse him of the foul remnants of the sexual assaults, both inside and out. A harsh sob drew the healer's attention and he looked up, alarmed to find Elladan weeping openly.

Elrond's soul twisted in both commiseration for Elladan's languishing misery and tormented anger to see his indomitable eldest thus bowed, head against that of the wounded elf, spilling tears upon the strained and terror-marred face only to kiss them away and murmur tender entreaties, pleading for the suffering soul not to fade. Elrohir and Elrond again shared their doubts and worry silently as the father laid a hand on his first-born's shoulder to gain his attention.

"Ion Iaur, (Eldest Son) mayhap it is best to let him go. This is not something…"

"Nay!" Elladan hissed, his eyes livid in anger and accusation. "Do not suggest such things! He is not meant to fade. He will heal; you will see!" He went back to work, ignoring his father and brother, carefully cleansing the patient's matted hair, searching for any undiscovered contusions or trauma to the head.

The elf could not long bear the pain the efforts to help him caused and became senseless once more. With a weary sigh Elrond resumed stitching up an ugly knife wound, an oblique slash to the side that had spared his liver but not the spleen. That needed to be scooped out and he was glad the wretched being was too deeply removed from reality to experience the surgical procedure.

Dawn was breaking by the time they concluded their ministrations and the elf was as clean and well-cared for as the lore-master's skill and the grace of Vilya could promote. He rested fitfully, awareness rising and falling with the depth of his agony and the height of his fever. Elladan would not leave the bedside, keeping to his spot on the floor.

That Elrond would not permit and with Elrohir's help dragged a second bed alongside. With a glance that informed of both his gratitude and his exhaustion, Elladan kicked off his boots and climbed into it, never releasing the patient's hand from his. Realising no explanations were likely to be tendered until everyone had recouped their energy, Elrond ushered Elrohir out, giving a last look at Elladan before closing the door.

The younger twin and the elven Lord ambled down the corridor side by side, heading for their rooms, and joined gazes a third time.

"Who is this elf?" Elrond queried, unable to wait.

"That is Legolas," Elrohir shrugged listlessly and yawned.

"What is he to your brother?"

"I know not for certain how it came about, Ada, but Elladan loves him."

At this the Lord of the Valley halted and gripped his son's arm, fixing him with a stern glare of remonstrance. He was not in the habit of permitting such mockery by his offspring, stressful night or not.

"It is the truth," Elrohir insisted with weary petulance.

Elrond swallowed, trying to make room in his trachea for air to speak. "For how long?"

"He has been in our company five days."

Elrond could do naught but stare dumbly; this was so ludicrous he would have laughed had the elf's condition not been so ravaged. Elrohir had to tug his father into motion, a faintly indulgent smile ghosting over his lips. He left him by the door to his bed chamber, promising to explain what little there was to tell later.

And thus did Legolas enter their lives, proving Erestor's argument both correct and erroneous all at the same time.

_Continued_

 

 

_**Disclaimer: Main characters and settings originally created by JRR Tolkien. Just for fun, no money earned. OC's and story are erobey's.** _


	2. Bathing Redefined

#  _Leonalta_

__  
by erobey  
unbeta'd

 

## Bathing Redefined

Anar smiled in exuberant brilliance upon the vale of the Bruinen, the grounds of the Last Homely House, and the secluded slate-flagged terrace of the morning room on the south-eastern side of the estate. The scenery was both picturesque and soothing, with a wide green lawn sloping gently down to a garden and a small stand of elm trees. On one side, a high privet hedge provided a screen from the more public areas of the main courtyard at the front of the house. At the other, a lattice work trellis supported a climbing rose, creating a fragrant wall between the terrace and the formal gardens.

The small patio had long been a favourite gathering spot for Elrond's household and over the uncountable years the Peredhel Lord had lived here many friends and kinfolk had enjoyed breaking fast while taking in the silent glory of a summer sunrise or enjoying afternoon tea amid good company and rousing conversation. To this purpose, the terrace was furnished with many lovely chairs, chaises, tables, and benches all wrought in delicately scrolled and decorated ironwork of such fine craftsmanship that their creators could only be Noldorin smiths. Yet recently, some changes had been made to the inviting outdoor chamber.

All of the tables and their chairs had been removed save one set just large enough for two and most of the comfortably cushioned seating had also been relocated to the walled garden just off Elrond's study at the back of the house. A single chaise remained and two arm chairs with a low, round table between them. A wheeled serving cart with three levels stood discretely alongside the hedge. On the other side of the oblong space against the rose trellis was set a narrow bed all made up in fine white silk and covered with a lovely sky blue down filled counterpane.

This unlikely item to be found in an outdoor setting was situated such that the roses formed its head and there the woody stems had been painstakingly de-thorned by loving hands. Against the greenery was piled a mound of soft pillows and beside the bed was set a small square table. This held a water flacon, two leather bound books, and a large assortment of small capped bottles, each of a different coloured glass. The sunlight played among these vessels, passed through the water decanter, and cast a rainbow across the grey stone flags.

Legolas knew nothing of these alterations for he had never been to Imladris before and thus had no history with which to compare the morning room terrace's layout. It was long past sunrise and the stone was warm as the golden haired elf pushed open the double, glass-paned doors and stepped outside. Or rather, moved forward in an awkward gait that was part hop and mostly hobble, for he leaned heavily on an ornately carved staff as he progressed.

This was due to the fact that his left leg was carefully braced, having been fractured in two places as well as pierced with not one but two arrows. His wounds had nearly healed but the breaks were taking longer to knit and thus the brace kept the bones from becoming misaligned during the process. It was not very graceful nor attractive to go about so, injured leg bent at the knee to prevent hitting his toes against the floor, but considering Elrond had not been certain whether the limb might be saved, Legolas was not wont to complain about it too much.

The effort was taxing but he was determined to get outdoors for he was expecting someone to join him in what had become a daily ritual. He had been here nearly four months now and it was starting to feel more like home than he would ever have imagined possible. Of course, he had never imagined he would come to be in Imladris at all and definitely not under his current conditions. The Wood Elf gave his head a brisk shake, preferring not to brood over the horrific events that had led him here; the nightmares were bad enough without spending his waking hours thinking about it.

He continued onward, loose robe flapping gently around his body, until he was standing in the center of the terrace. With satisfaction he noted that everything seemed to be ready: a wash basin, a basket of sponges, soaps, and lotions, a tremendous cylindrical red-glazed ceramic jug stopped with a cork. All awaited their employment to provide the patient a refreshing cleansing as it was impossible for Legolas to climb in and out of a proper tub. He shivered a bit in anticipation, tipping his head up and grinning into the clear blue dome of cloudless sky, luxuriating in the warmth showering down upon his face. He shrugged the robe off his shoulders and it collected at his feet with a soft sigh.

Legolas relaxed under the caress of the gentle breeze rifling his hair and flirting with his bare skin and stood still, back to the open doors, waiting. He inhaled, long and slow as though enjoying the sensation of drawing air into his lungs, searching the various scents for one he most preferred these days, and his smile broadened. His beloved was approaching.

Soft footfalls and an audible breath announced the elf's arrival upon the threshold of the double doors. Legolas could feel his lover's eyes examining every angle and line of his long, lean frame and was positive that gaze was transfixed upon his rear. So thinking, he shifted his weight from his sound leg to the staff and back, just a quick flex of the hips, an enticing little wiggle to hurry things along. A snicker sounded, the footsteps resumed, and then he was clasped round the chest by two strong arms as the heat and hardness of his beloved's erection pressed into the cleft dividing his rear. The strength of the body in full contact with his, the protective encirclement of the arms surrounding him instantly imbued his soul with a degree of peace and contentment he had only previously known in his mother's embrace. He was safe; he was loved. 

He was desired. A tremulous sigh across his neck preceded the lips that nuzzled him there as he was kissed and nibbled from its base to his jaw. Legolas shuddered and leaned into the contact, shifting to rub his backside against the ardent flesh. Legolas was uncertain which of them gave rise to the low moan that followed the stimulation.

"Eager, Miphileg?" (Little Kiss) the whispered words drifted across his ear, a tantalising hint of touch that was only enough to make him yearn for more.

"Aye, this is the only good thing about being so wrecked," answered Legolas. The intimate hug relented as the elf moved to stand before him and Legolas met the enchanting intensity of Elladan's grey eyes. The expression held within them was both tenderly protective and smouldering with hunger and Legolas was certain he never wished his beloved to look upon him in any other manner.

"Then I shall take my time and make sure to give you a very thorough bathing," Elladan said, smiling as he leaned in and gave the silvan a quick peck on the tip of his nose. He pushed his long fall of ebony hair over his bare shoulder and squatted down at Legolas' feet. Like his lover, he was nude, having dropped his robe on the morning room's floor before exiting through the open doors. He felt the light weight of a hand upon his shoulder as Legolas discarded the staff and leaned on him instead. The wooden stick clattered on the slate and Elladan chuckled as he reached for the earthen ware jug. "Afraid I will get away from you?" he teased.

"Nay, I will always find you should you stray. Besides, you promised never to leave my side until I should breathe my last, did you not?" and the Wood Elf was only partly jesting in return. Lately he had need for reassurance of the bond that had grown between them.

"It was more than a promise," Elladan lifted serious eyes and held Legolas' gaze, filling the broken soul with as much love and comfort as he could, softly stroking the thigh of the unharmed leg. He waited until all the unspoken fears dissipated from Legolas' features and then smirked. "I do not think we have to worry any longer about final breaths, do you? This strikes me as a very healthy response." Elladan was now admiring the long slender penis poised right at chin level and he gave the excited erection a playful tweak.

"Ai, Elladan!" Legolas gasped, gripping tight in response to the delicious spasm coursing through his body. "We can just forego the bath."

"Nay, I think not." Elladan disagreed and lifted the vessel, pouring out some of the hot water into the basin beside the Wood Elf's feet. "You would not wish me to fall to kinslaying, would you?" He selected a small, soft sponge and immersed it in the fluid to saturate every pore, then squeezed out the excess. Somehow the sound of the water trickling back into the basin was erotic, a sensuous counterpoint to Legolas' laboured suspiration.

"What?" Legolas frowned down into the grave visage regarding him. "You are making no sense."

"If Adar were to determine I am incapable of taking care of you properly, he would assign this duty to one of the healers' apprentices." Elladan unstopped the bottle of soap, poured some onto the wet sponge, and worked up a fluffy white lather. He stood and slowly rubbed the dripping, porous scrubber over Legolas' chest and shoulders. White, foamy trails streaked the silvan's creamy skin as the soap slipped down the elf's enticing form. Elladan's breath caught as he passed the sponge over nipples grown hard and dark under the attention. He swabbed the maroon points, smearing the white froth over them liberally and then testing their resilience with finger and thumb, stroking and tugging each in turn.

Legolas moaned and arched into the contact, eyes half closed and lips parted. "I do not want anyone else assigned to this task," he panted out huskily.

Elladan leaned down and kissed him, greedily plunging his tongue within the open mouth and tasting Legolas fully; triumphant in this initial act of possessive conquest. He pulled Legolas close, relishing the slippery warmth and the contrast between soft supple skin and engorged nodes flush against his chest. A shift in his stance brought their aroused genitals into contact and the searing heat this ignited precipitated a lusty thrust that made Legolas groan in near despair, unable to manage a similar motion on only one leg's support. Elladan relented and released his lover's lips. A half-step back severed the pleasurable full frontal juncture and he smiled into azure eyes alight with dreamy passion and disappointment.

"Nay, do not stop, Beloved, please!" Legolas pleaded urgently, attempting to close the minute distance between them without success.

"Fear not; I am but beginning," Elladan reassured him. "Have I ever failed to give you a satisfactory bath?"

"Well, no," admitted Legolas, "but you are driving me to madness!"

Elladan only chuckled at that and shook his head, wetting the sponge anew. He passed it under Legolas arm and then wiped all the way down to his hip and back, first on the left side and then the right. Knowing where the Wood Elf was ticklish, he raised a string of raucous involuntary giggles in the process that made him laugh in concert. "Is this not best, this slow and leisurely approach to fulfilment? Why hasten to the peak when there is so much pleasure to be found in the climb?"

"Aye," Legolas could do nothing but agree, staring into those eyes so filled with love and longing it made his heart ache. He sighed and tilted back his head, giving over all control to Elladan, shutting his eyes against the glare of the sun. He heard an abbreviated cry die to silence as lips applied suction to the delicate skin under his jaw and his lover's tongue swirled across the spot repeatedly. He could feel the blood collecting in the captured flesh and let a small whimper escape when the pressure left and sturdy teeth nipped him there, the mark made. "Leonalta, iaunen, seronen." (Radiant Shadow, my sanctuary, my beloved.)

Elladan gently touched his soapy fingers to the violet bruise and then kissed it tenderly, checking Legolas' face to make sure this was not too much. His greatest fear was that his desire to give pleasure would trigger memories of the brutal tortures that had initiated their unusual bond. The serenity of the silvan's countenance reassured him but the closed vision did not. "Look at me, Miphileg," he whispered anxiously. "Are you well?"

The worry in the words brought Legolas out of his pleasant fugue instantly. He locked his gaze with Elladan's, understanding what he needed, and smiled, lifting his hand to caress the concern away from the comely face so close to his. "I am well."

Elladan's relieved exhale uplifted both their spirits and he resumed the bath, running the sponge down the center of Legolas' chest to the navel and back.

Legolas twitched, feeling the cool suds sliding down his belly, oozing into his navel, and collecting in his pubic hair. He shuddered and suddenly yanked Elladan close, wantonly demanding a deep and searing kiss, frantically pivoting to grind his cock against its counterpart. He meant to be patient, truly, but while his heart was submissive Legolas' body was bold. They pressed together and savoured the exquisite fire building between them, two feral growls, one baritone and the other bass, passed between the sealed lips.

The sponge dropped to the slate with a muted splat that neither heeded. Elladan wrapped an arm around Legolas' shoulders, the opposite hand delving into the silvan's thick tresses to secure the connection. This was no mere kiss; such a word could not encompass the impassioned interchange flaring through them, stealing breath and reason and caution. With need spurring him to unthinking haste, Elladan gripped the injured leg, pulling it aside to drape against his hip and permit closer contact. The sharp hiss of anguish this generated sundered them abruptly and Legolas laid his forehead on Elladan's shoulder, fingers digging in to anchor him through the onslaught.

"Ai! Forgive me, beloved, forgive me; I would not cause you pain for anything," Elladan was beside himself; what he dreaded most had come to pass. He had tended Legolas' injuries from the start and knew that the treatment required could not help but cause intense agony, but that was different. Elladan did not want any of their intimate activities to bring Legolas so much as a shadow of discomfort. He ground his teeth and growled, holding Legolas close and rubbing the inflexible spine, furious that he could do nothing more.

For his part, Legolas just held on, concentrating to prevent the grinding torment from sapping all his strength, unable to do or say anything to reassure his lover that it was not serious and would soon pass. The pain crested and finally ebbed; the tension drained away and with a shaky sigh the beleaguered silvan went limp in Elladan's arms.

"Please forgive me, Miphileg; I am so sorry. Let me carry you to the bed."

Legolas drew in a quick breath and straightened up. How he had fantasised hearing that last phrase! Yet he had never imagined it limned in sorrowful guilt. "Elladan, do not do this. It was I who tried to incite your ardour and thus I am more at fault. Had I heeded your plea for self-control it would not have happened. Anyway, it was only a minor pang and it is over now," he searched Elladan's eyes as he spoke, determined to grant whatever expiation was needed to smooth over the unfortunate disruption.

The slow convalescence and the limitations the gradual healing process created were deeply frustrating. He needed Elladan in the most primeval way and yet his poor condition inhibited their complete union. Each day he felt stronger and with each new dawn he prayed it would be the one to herald the consummation of their love. Legolas was growing closer to desperation as Elladan held him in this limbo of expectation, his confidence eroding under the damaging doubts instilled by the harrowing captivity. Mayhap Elladan did not want him, not truly, not for all eternity.

Legolas physically shook in Elladan's arms, willing the thought out of his mind. Fingers lifted his chin and brought his eyes to meet confused and contrite grey depths. Legolas answered the silent question there with a wistful smile and feathery kisses. He kissed Elladan lightly on the lips, the nose, the cheeks, all over his face, wrapping his arms around his neck and crooning a trilling invitation as he brought their bodies back into cohesion, willing Elladan to put aside his worries and just love him. The diverting stimulus worked and Elladan began to reciprocate.

"What…" Legolas smiled as his words were interrupted by the animated tongue eagerly chasing after his. "What is this to do with kinslaying?" he asked when he was able, hoping to further distract Elladan by reminding him of the unexplained conundrum presented earlier.

"Ah," Elladan smiled down upon the pleasing sight of Legolas' countenance, free of pain and filled with mischievous curiosity. He arched a brow and tried to present a displeased demeanour. "I have seen how others in the household follow you with hungry eyes, especially that insufferable herb-grinder Minlamad (First Echo). If I do not care for you well, Adar may give the task of tending you to him. I would have no choice but to kill him should he ever touch you for you are mine and mine alone." Elladan thrilled to feel Legolas' heart leap upon hearing this. "Then, I would be banished from all the elven realms and you with me. We would have to wander with Aragorn's Rangers. You would truly long for the chance to bathe then." For a moment they held one another's eyes and then both fell to laughing, happy the dark mood was driven out.

"You dropped the sponge."

"You made me."

Elladan carefully eased his palm over the thigh of the injured leg as if assuring himself he could touch Legolas without causing harm. Emboldened by the pleased sigh this evoked, he continued exploring, working his hand around the slender hip to trip over the little dimple where the Wood Elf's fine round rump arose. He petted the firm muscle and moved lower, cupping the taut flesh and squeezing enough to bring fire to the silvan's shining eyes.

His other hand took the opposite approach, trailing up the centre of Legolas' back, tangling through the lengthy blond locks, seeking the protruding tip of a pink-flushed ear and teasing it. Elladan was highly gratified to watch Legolas' eyes go wide and then nearly roll back in his head as he emitted a long, keening plaint of pure desire. He also emitted a most undignified and obscene phrase: "Bite me!" Elladan was incapable of refusing such an exhortation and raised a round red welt upon the pale white shoulder.

Before Legolas could attempt to wrest control of the scene again, Elladan decided it was time to finish the bath. He slid down to the ground to retrieve the lost sponge in minute increments, tasting and sampling the archer's hot slippery skin as he went. He suckled each nipple and then ran his tongue between them up the breastbone, dipping into the depression at the base of the throat. The low groan Legolas released vibrated through Elladan's soul as he nuzzled the ivory neck from which it arose. He kissed his way to the abdomen and lingered there, darting his tongue into the natal dent at its centre, delighting in the quivery ripples of the muscles beneath his questing lips.

Elladan chuckled and gripped his love by the hips tightly, for Legolas was trying his utmost to shift position and bring the head of his penis in line with the meandering mouth. Elladan would have none of it and, after giving one provocative lick across the glans, dropped to his heels and grabbed up the sponge.

"Oh, so cruel," Legolas complained through gritted teeth as Elladan rinsed it out and lathered it up again, working on the lower half of his body this time. Each leg was carefully washed including between his toes and Legolas feared he might not be able to subdue the urge to straddle Elladan's shoulders if nothing more happened than this. The most interesting areas of anatomy were being ignored and Elladan was humming, actually humming, while he scrubbed in tight little circles over the calves, behind the knees, up the inner thighs.  _Ah, this is more like it._  The sopping sponge slipped between his legs, behind his balls and right over his opening. Legolas' wavery cry of needy desperation joined the twittering of summer songbirds and the liquid tumult of Rivendell's many falls.

"That sound," growled Elladan. "I mean to hear it again."

He let the sponge go and seized the long florid column of excited flesh, pulling to bring the slickened head to his lips. He sucked it gently, savouring the slippery secretion. Squeezing and pumping oh so slowly with one hand, the other kneaded the soft mounds of the silvan's arse. Elladan's scalp stung where Legolas snatched a handful of the black silken locks. He disengaged to see Legolas' head tilt back as that wail of erotic agony escaped his lungs a second time.

"Look at me, Miphileg," Elladan ordered and felt his libido surging under the fierce and silent plea within the gaze focused upon him.

Elladan flashed a dazzling grin and wrapped his mobile tongue around the archer's shaft, lapping the sensitive slit before withdrawing to enjoy the titillating, incoherent cry once more. He licked his way down the long length, kissing and lightly nipping, and when he reached the root he sucked carefully against the tight sack. Legolas shuddered so violently that Elladan feared his healthy leg would give out and grasped the archer's waist to lend support until the trembling ceased.

"Ah, please, enough," Legolas found air for these beseeching words at last and transferred both hands to Elladan's broad shoulders to steady his balance. 

No more incentive was required for Elladan to resume pleasuring his silvan lover and he quickly engulfed as much of the engorged organ as possible, letting his teeth just faintly graze against the sensitised shaft. Legolas sang out an appreciative exclamation of delight and bucked into the torrid confinement. Elladan resumed swabbing the seeping slit with his tongue and fondled the heavy ballocks briefly before returning one hand to the warm soapy water to lubricate his fingers. Carefully he pushed one inside the Wood Elf's tightly cinctured anus and Legolas jerked, fighting the urge to flee, gripped with fear and shock.

Elladan stopped the penetration but left the finger in place, nor did he cease the fellatio, counting on the pleasing stimulation to overcome the initial reaction. They had done this before and soon Legolas relaxed again, shoving into the enveloping lips and moaning. Elladan resumed probing for the small hump where the prostate was hidden and received ample evidence of success. 

"Aye, aye, like that!" Legolas nearly bent double as the sensitive zone was lightly pressed, curling over the dark head and leaning all of his weight on Elladan as he struggled for air. He gasped in combined surprise and excitement when the finger pulled out only to re-enter accompanied by a second as Elladan sought to stretch and prepare him. "Oh, please, yes. Please," he murmured, raking the ebony hair, whimpering that he could not reach to kiss the bobbing crown of midnight tresses. Elladan meant to claim him. "Will you take me in the grass there beneath the trees?" pleaded Legolas, rocking between the thrusting digits and the sucking mouth.

"Mmmmm," Elladan could not answer for he was unwilling to pause long enough to do so. Instead he pulled his fingers free and inserted three this time, shoving deep and hard by way of answer. In truth, he did not know if he could hold out the few extra minutes required to gather Legolas up and carry him down the slope to the grove of trees. He was thinking more along the line of throwing him onto the bed and fucking him senseless. 

He spread his fingers wide inside the hot, narrow channel and suddenly wondered if Legolas had ever really done this before. It was almost enough to make him stop in order to find out for certain but then the archer clamped his fingers around the inflamed tip of Elladan's ear and squeezed. A muffled shout issued from his throat and the vibrations excited Legolas to the point of breaking.

"Ai, Elladan! More!" he cried out.

A shocked and strangled exclamation sounded through the air and the lovers froze, for the sound had come from neither of them. They knew at once they were not alone and in a frenzy of mortified panic Legolas sought to get free of Elladan. Knowing the silvan could not walk without the staff, Elladan yanked his fingers out and relinquished the penis from his lips' captivity. He hastened to rise so that he could aid his lover, grabbing for the soaked, neglected robe to provide cover. "Be calm," he whispered urgently as he straightened up, one arm wrapped around his love's waist to prevent a fall.

Legolas was struggling, however, and Elladan shifted to ensure a more secure stance. His heel connected with a wet, slick puddle of suds and with a shout of dismay his leg went completely out from under him. They fell to the ground in an undignified heap of mingled arms, legs, hair, and jutting penises. If not for the fact of the archer's injuries it would have been quite comical. As it was, all of Elladan's weight bore them down and they landed with the broken leg crushed beneath them against the stone flags. Legolas gave a short, agonised yelp and then lay quiet, eyes squeezed shut and jaws clenched against the spikes of pain shooting through his abused limb.

"Oh Valar!" the unwelcome guest intoned in combined sympathy and distressed embarrassment, eyes riveted to the scene.

Elladan extricated himself from Legolas and hastily draped the sodden garment over the silvan's nakedness. He glared up at the elf in the doorway. "Arwen." He infused the name with enough venom to render it a vile curse.

"Elladan, I would not have watched if…I had no idea it was you! I…Is he…are you all right?" she stammered out, still unable to cease ogling the wet, prone, figure trembling on the ground.

"Get out!" her brother shouted and were he not naked and exposed he would have forcibly ejected her from the terrace.

Heavy foot falls sounded from the room behind her. "Arwen?" a male voice called into the air and was followed shortly by Aragorn's rugged form. He halted beside her, staring round eyed in disbelief at the tableau before him. "What are you doing?" he demanded and took her by the arm, tugging her away. "I am sorry, Elladan. Do you need help?" he asked, eyeing the silent elf sprawled on the flagstones with concern.

"I can manage," Elladan answered coldly, one hand protectively placed on Legolas' shoulder.

Aragorn gave a quick nod and closed the double doors behind him as he escorted Arwen inside. He scowled down into her contrite countenance and, fingers firmly gripping her arm at the elbow, steered her from the morning room. "What in Mordor were you doing?" he hissed, striding purposely toward the main dining hall where the rest of the household was already gathered for the noon meal. "I cannot believe you stood there watching your brother in such an intimate and private moment."

"I did not know it was Elladan; his face was otherwise occupied and not visible from my perspective. All I could see was that golden-haired elf bent over a dark-haired elf. As you are well aware, there are many dark-haired elves in the household," she retorted, snatching her arm free of her beloved and storming ahead. She threw open the doors of the hall and swept inside, grey eyes flashing and cheeks flushed. Her mood instantly affected the room's occupants as all conversation stalled, every eye watching in trepidation as she swooped down on the table and yanked her chair noisily back.

"Well, I do not see that it makes any difference whether you knew or not. When did you take up voyeurism as a hobby?" Aragorn growled tersely, feeling a bit insecure over her obvious and previously unknown fascination with the sexual antics of same-sex lovers.  _'Beautiful and elegant, elven, male lovers,'_  he thought with dismay. He shoved the chair under her knees and she plopped down into it gracelessly.

"What did you say?" Elrond rose from his place at the head of the table to glare at his foster son.

"Only what is true," Aragorn defended his perhaps too crude charge as he sat beside his betrothed. "I went to get Arwen and found she had barged right in on Legolas and Elladan in the middle of bathing." A series of gasps and 'oh my's' chased round the table and everyone favoured Arwen with looks constructed of disapproving disappointment and avid curiosity. 

"I blame your grandmother's influence," the Lord of Imladris sat down with a sigh, "and I am not referring to Elwing." He shared a glance with his guest, one Sindarin prince from the Greenwood, Celonlir, first-born of Thranduil. "My humble apologies for my daughter's indiscretion."

"Speak not of it," Celonlir replied and meant it not as a polite rejoinder but a vehement plea, hand upraised and visage contorted in a pained expression over the mental picture assaulting his sensibilities. He did not want to imagine his baby brother engaged in such activities.

"What possessed you to go in there during bathing, Thêl Dithen?" (Little Sister) Elrohir suddenly exclaimed, grinning hugely at the scene that passed before his mind's eye.

"I would not call that bathing," Arwen fumed. "Even so, who in their right mind 'bathes' on a veritably public terrace? And when was the morning room converted to a bed-sitting room?" she lifted her napkin and snapped it open, settling it across her lap with an indignant huff.

A stifled sniggle caught her attention and she turned her narrowed and fearsome gaze upon Erestor, who hastily took up his fork and prodded his salad with it as if searching for something rancid that he wished to fish out. "It is Erestor's fault," the Evenstar claimed.

"My fault? Exactly how did you come to that ridiculous conclusion?" the dignified seneschal demanded, setting his fork down with care and folding his arms before him.

"You sent me in there, knowing what was going on."

"Nay, I did no such thing!"

"You did. I asked if you knew where I could find Elladan, for I did not see him at dawn when I arrived, nor was he in his rooms and you said 'Try the terrace.'"

"Oh." Erestor uncrossed his arms and slumped down a bit in his seat, taking in the disapproving frowns now directed his way. He had been frightfully busy when Arwen arrived in his office and had hardly paid any attention to what she wanted or the time of the day during which her query had been posed.

"Erestor, how could you?" demanded Lindir hotly. "Has that poor Wood Elf not been through enough? Why would you set him up for such a humiliating experience just at the moment the pair chose to consummate their bond?"

"It was an accident! I was pre-occupied!" insisted Erestor.

"Consummate their bond? How could you possibly know that?" Celonlir asked the gifted musician in low tones brimming with menace and infuriation on his little brother's behalf. "You came in just before those two," the Sindarin prince pointed at Aragorn and Arwen as he spoke. "Exactly why were you late for the noon meal, minstrel?"

Lindir's face turned a bright crimson and he squirmed under the threatening glower of the warrior prince. "I was…outside…communing with nature," he mumbled.

"Near the rose trellis, perhaps?" wondered Glorfindel with a suggestive lilt and a lecherous leer.

"By Elbereth, what is wrong with you people?" Elrond sputtered in exasperation and propped his elbows on the table to support his bowed head for a minute. It seemed voyeurism was a hobby with a propensity to contagion. "Well, at least our suppositions are now confirmed. They mean to make this bond permanent."

"Not that we expected anything other," Celonlir shrugged helplessly. "Elrohir told us all how it was right from the start. Ai! How am I going to explain to Adar? It is really unfair for the burden to fall to me. Lord Elrond, perhaps you could…"

"I think not. Such news should come only from Legolas, do you not agree? He is no child and thus it is his responsibility to reveal his heart's desire to your father, not mine."

"When is the King expected?" asked Glorfindel.

"At any moment he shall be galloping through the gates, his horse fairly dead for having run without stopping from Greenwood's borders," Celonlir was only exaggerating a little. "The most recent message stated his warriors had run into resistance in the High Pass but were underway again. That arrived by falcon this morning."

A brief silence followed this as everyone considered the impending arrival of the volatile and rightfully distraught father. No one knew quite what to expect, including Celonlir. Thranduil had not ventured from Greenwood since the Last Alliance, but nothing would stop him from getting to Legolas' side in such a crisis. He was not likely to be pleased that everyone, including Celonlir, had forgotten to inform him of Legolas' condition until the worst was over, even though the oversight had occurred because of the attention healing the younger prince had required.

Further, it was not common for Wood Elves to take same-sex partners, especially with intent to bond for eternity. How he would react to the impending union was anyone's guess. Finally, if he learned the inhabitants of the Last Homely House were watching Legolas coupling with his intended, as if it were a sort of sport, there was no accounting for the consequences, for Thranduil completely doted on the babe of the family.

Elrond's eyes widened in dismay over this thought. He straightened and passed his hand over his face in resignation. "All right, there is nothing we can do about past errors in judgement and decency. Let me just make it plain that I forbid any of you to spy on Elladan and Legolas, whether 'bathing' or not."

A chorus of 'Certainly, Lord Elrond', 'Of course, Adar', and 'I would never stoop so low' arose form the other elves and the one human and the Lord of Imladris managed a tight, tired smile in acknowledgement. It had, all in all, been a highly stressful four months. Everyone began consuming the meal but no one spoke for quite a while.

"Well, are any of you planning to tell me what has happened or must I wait until Elladan calms down and try to find out from him?" demanded Arwen impatiently. "How long have he and Legolas been a couple and how did they meet? What happened to his leg? And there seemed to be faint marks covering his back as if…" Arwen's eyes grew huge as her voice dwindled and she realised the implications of her observations. "Oh nay!" she whispered. "I did not want to think it could be so!"

Profound silence followed this pronouncement until Aragorn took her hand and rubbed it consolingly. "Sadly, it is true," he murmured. "There are few tales as bitter yet there is hope for Legolas through Elladan," he added, for he knew she was compassionate and would be deeply moved by the story.

"Perhaps we should start at the beginning," prompted Glorfindel and sent a pointed look in Celonlir's direction.

"Indeed, Lady Arwen, it is unfortunate that you arrived home even while messenger birds were en route to Lorien to apprise you of the news. No doubt you have the gift of foresight and knew in your heart something was amiss in your brother's world and thus chose to hasten to Imladris so unexpectedly," said Celonlir gently, for he could see she was distraught to have pried into their respective brothers' privacy.

Arwen smiled in shaken and watery gratitude for the warrior's understanding pardon.

"The beginning, then, was in Greenwood," Thranduil's eldest continued. "We lost a fine warrior recently, a cousin on my mother's side, and Legolas and I were escorting his widow and their child to the Havens, for the grief of the loss was too much for them. We had thirty-six warriors for protection but did not expect trouble, for usually the silvans travel unremarked across Eriador to the sea.

"We were attacked in the prime of the day, ambushed most despicably, lured into a trap by some poor beggars claiming to need the aid of healing and wholesome food. Of course we stopped; our cousin's wife-mate would not think of going on without attempting to help the destitute humans. When we got to the village we found Orcs waiting for us and had to fight our way out. They killed mother and child in the first round of the assault."

_Continued_

_**Disclaimer: Main characters and settings originally created by JRR Tolkien. Just for fun, no money earned. OC's and story are erobey's.** _


	3. Carn Dûm

#  _Leonalta_

__  
by erobey  
unbeta'd

 

## Carn Dûm

"This is a dark day, fit for naught but lamentations and blood-letting. But there is nothing left to kill and we lack even the dread evidence of his death to ease the heart so sorely tried already. I will say this: it would be better to slit my own throat and perish here than be the one to carry this news home." Thus spoke Celonlir (Riversong) standing on the ravaged land skirting Carn Dûm amid the carnage of battle and the stench of riven flesh.

His herth (troop of warriors) gazed upon the reeking mass of cooling carcasses, blades and bows and knives still clutched within their rigid fists, chests heaving to secure enough air, hearts racing in that mad mix of fear and thrill and awakening sorrow every war incites. Not one among them could yet summon words to counter their captain's dire statement, so great was the shock over the outcome of the skirmish.

Some collapsed where they stood, joining the wreckage on the ground, injuries ignored in the frenzied fight to survive getting the better of them at last. The hale among them hastened to lend aid. Of the thirty-six silvan warriors under Celonlir's command, three were wounded and two slain while one was captive, taken hostage to secure their foe's safe retreat.

Otherwise, they would not remain lingering in dazed and impotent outrage on the barren plain. Otherwise, they would have given chase and run the last of the vermin down. Such had been their intent when unexpected enemy reinforcements had intercepted the elves, blocking their advance and allowing the routed cowards to make good their escape, taking the prisoner with them.  

The enemies' losses were greater but this gave the elves no semblance of satisfaction. Indeed, the mingled refuse from the mangled bodies of both Orcs and men was a chilling sight, for those two races had not fought united against the woodland folk since the Last Alliance. They were poorly attired with little armour and iron blades that had seen better treatment as ore crushed beneath the grinding weight of the stone that spawned it. The Orcs were typically malformed and grotesque. The humans were lean and beastly with ragged unkempt hair and a look about them suggesting not all their heritage was adan.

The implications made the First Born shudder in horrified sympathy, though they had just engaged in mortal combat with the freakish humans, for to see any of Iluvatar's Children so desecrated and perverted was an affront to the soul. It was this virtue of compassion that had destroyed two innocents and cost the youngest member of their herth, lost not to death and the peace of Mandos but to anguished imprisonment and the slow ruin wrought by torture.   

The Wood Elves moved amongst the offal, dispatching what Orcs still breathed but seeking for any among the ferin (humans) yet alive. Everyone understood the urgent need to learn the strength of the army awaiting them in the mountain fortress of Angmar's black-hearted witch-king. The Wraith Lord had departed to the foul confines of Mordor's desolation centuries past, but there remained in the stronghold untold numbers of his confederates, sufficient to be a scourge upon the land and a chronic plague upon the honest folk trying to rejuvenate the forsaken northlands into a decent, wholesome country.

"Hîr Celonlir, you cannot mean to give him up to these fiends," the voice speaking was tight with constrained anger and the promise of rebellion against such a notion. "Let me and one of your archers scout ahead and see what defences the enemy employs."

Celonlir scowled over the charge of abandonment as his grip upon his knife tightened. "I am not your Lord nor would I ever leave one of my own in the hands of Orcs and mis-bred men." His tone was harsher than he had intended and he regretted the intemperate rebuke instantly, watching as the soldier stiffened and his face coloured.

It was difficult under these conditions for Celonlir to recall that this one was young for he was a man rather than elf-kind; thus his years accounted to greater maturity than they would for one of the First Born. It was difficult to accept that this soldier carried that age-old prejudice against silvan ways and that this was a fault of his poor upbringing rather than a sign of low character. It was difficult but Celonlir knew that somehow he must show courtesy and refrain from making enemies when allies were so desperately needed. The captain sighed and rubbed his jaw with the back of his gory hand for a blow had landed there and he was feeling it now.

"I thank you for your offer; please forgive my rude rejoinder for I know you intended no affront. I am Celonlir, son of Thranduil of the Woodland Realm. The hostage taken is my younger brother and I…I cannot…I will not go home without him.  I would ask for you and one of your lieutenants to seek aid. It will take greater numbers than those assembled here to destroy Carn Dûm."

"Nay, it was I who spoke out of turn," the man was stunned to learn he addressed an elven prince. His next thought was to marvel at the restraint this warrior showed in light of the personal torment the events must induce. Only it bothered him, that reserve, for every minute of hesitation left the prisoner in escalating danger. It did not help that he felt in part responsible for the circumstances they now faced. "I am Aragorn, a Ranger among the remnant of the dúnedain. Surely there is a chance your brother might be spared if we act quickly," the man ventured. 

"Spared? You are mad if you believe that." Another elf advanced in rapid strides toward the mortal and in spite of himself Aragorn fell back a pace under the threat of menace the warrior projected. The silvan halted a hand's breadth from the man's face and glared coldly. "They know we will retrieve our kinsman even if you do not. They know we will slay every last one of them. They will take their revenge in advance and it will be a mercy should they kill Legolas."

Aragorn was not alone among the elves but had at his back twenty seasoned Rangers. They reacted to the tension by drawing closer together and facing the elves in fighting stance, for though they had joined the battle to reinforce the First Born, they would not allow their captain to be harmed. Twenty men, even of the race of Númenór, were never a match for thirty elven warriors, however, and all of them knew it.

"Sîdh," Celonlir said quietly and reached for Aragorn, drawing him away from the irate elf. "We will not do evil's work for it has a surfeit of servants so employed."

"As you command, Celonlir." The silvan flashed a last blistering warning at the man through amber eyes and stalked away. He signalled one of his comrades and the pair set off in the direction of the enemy castle, quickly diminishing from human sight under the speed generated by the smooth elegance of their long, loping gait.

"Will you go and gather what soldiers may heed your voice?" Celonlir asked the man again. He knew well who Aragorn was for word of the Dúnadan had filtered through the thick cover of Greenwood's canopy. "These are not our lands and we have no kin here, yet I am thinking you do. You brought these men into a skirmish that was not your own for our sake, and I am hoping you will not turn your back on us at this stage."

"Your trust is not misplaced. I owe a debt to the elf taken captive, but even were that not true I would do all in my power to see him freed," answered Aragorn, standing as tall as he could and bowing to the Wood Elf. In his heart, though, he was worried, for he did not like to leave his men at large among the volatile silvan elves. At the same time, he believed himself the most certain to locate and enlist the sort of forces the assault would require. He looked upon the hardened eyes of his Rangers, each one's iron expression stating more clearly than words their support of his actions, whatever objective he might choose.

Among these rugged fellows casualties were light with but one killed and three wounded, for they had come upon the battle at its ending. Though intending to join forces with the Wood Elves, the humans' sudden foray into the melee had been misinterpreted. For a short interval the silvans had thought themselves beset on two fronts, and in the confusion the enemy was abetted. Some of the silvans turned from the fleeing Orcs to counter the charging Rangers. It was just then that attention faltered and the lost warrior had been put in a vulnerable position. 

Aragorn had found himself fronting a matched set of golden-haired, blue-eyed Wood Elves and was nearly skewered by the long slender hunting knife with which the taller one attacked. The other intervened and halted what surely would have been a fatal blow, taking a shallow slice across the forearm for his trouble.   _'Tirio na megil tîn.' ( Look at his sword)_  the elf had said and for a second his vision had locked upon Aragorn's, transmitting encouragement and gratitude, before wheeling about back into the sea of abhorrent Orcs and evil hybrid men. Almost at once he was separated from his brother and the man.

_'Mellyn, hyn na mellyn!" (Friends, they are friends!)_  Celonlir had cried out loudly to halt his herth's error, for of course he was the tall flaxen-maned elf confronting Aragorn. It was in that instant of re-orientation that an opening was made and the captive taken. An arrow had pierced Legolas' thigh and once he was down two Orcs and a man pounced.

Aragorn and Celonlir had fought  side by side after that, carving a path through the vile slaves of darkness, confident they would reach the beset elf in time, for they could see that Legolas was still armed and fighting valiantly. He dispatched two of his captors but the moment he arose another arrow caught the same leg and a vicious blow from a spiked club landed solidly just above his knee; down he went again. Even then the impromptu allies did not despair and continued working toward Legolas' position. It was the arrival of the Black Riders, fully armoured and armed, that had sealed the wounded elf's fate.

This host of mounted warriors swept over the plains and divided the warring troops on the ground. It was they that claimed the two immortal lives, beheading the silvans in this initial charge. These were not wraiths but men sworn to their service and proud of the fact. Their horses were as black as pitch, their garments, boots, gloves, leggings and all were darker than tar. Their hauberks and the metal of their swords were so coloured, too. Even the skin of their faces was smudged with charcoal and their lips smeared with kohl. On a moonless night such would slip unnoticed across the landscape to do their evil deeds.

As the combined Rangers and  Wood Elves regrouped to battle this new threat, five of the Riders went for the fallen elf. He could not fight against so many and the last the allies saw of him he was between two of the steeds, struggling to free himself from the grasp of the horses' masters. They galloped away, dragging him thus, one wrist lashed to the pommel of  each saddle. The remaining Riders not fallen in the field covered this retreat, abandoning the Orcs and men on foot to slaughter by the enraged First Born. 

"Let us set this filth afire," one of the Wood Elves proposed, wrenching Aragorn from his rambling thoughts, "and carry our dead to clean ground for interment."

"Aye. Two shall go and escort the bodies to their final rest. Let the masters of Carn Dûm see the beacon fire of their doom this night. May Manwë's breath send the stink and ash into their stronghold to choke them in their sleep." Celonlir announced and murmured agreement arose among his herth.

There was no need for him to assign the task; the elves attended these duties in complete harmony. A pair called to the trio of black horses whose Riders had been felled by arrow or sword. The chargers had bolted from the scene of destruction but were not out of earshot. It did not take much coaxing for the mistreated animals to appreciate their change in fortune and hasten back, eager to be relieved of the burdensome armoured tack, willing to bear the lifeless bodies of the fallen elves.

"Aragorn," one of the Rangers spoke, approaching his captain purposefully. "Our encampment in the North Downs might be a fitting place of rest. We will need to send Dacre to be buried there and mayhap the Wood Elves would not mind to let their kin take final reverie in the same barrow."

"Well spoken, Halbarad," Aragorn smiled grimly. "What say you, Celonlir? It is a fair land and well guarded, even in these dismal times. None would dare desecrate your kinsmen's' remains."

"Are there any trees in this place you speak of?" One of the elves came forward and addressed Halbarad directly. "I would lay my son down beneath living roots if it is possible."

The simple statement shook the man badly and for a long moment he stared into the infinite sorrow in the pale green eyes of the ever-youthful warrior. He swallowed and nodded. "The hills are treed in oak, chestnut, and pine for the most part. The barrows are cut into the hillside with the entrance in a sheltered cove. There is a little creek there."

"That is fitting," said the grieving father and the others of his people managed to convey their approval without words. Soon two Rangers and two elves had secured the deceased on the horses and the small entourage headed west in the gathering dusk.

Aragorn met Celonlir's gaze amid the softly sung silvan lament rising on the air and realised he had no more fears for his men's safety in the company of Greenwood's protectors. The message was plain for elf and man alike: if the dead would repose together as brothers, the living could do not less than forge a bond born of righteous purpose. Aragorn turned his back on the blazing pyre and mounted the remaining war horse, heading southward toward Rivendell with as much speed as the animal could muster.

_Continued_   



	4. Leönalta

#  _Leonalta_

__  
by erobey  
unbeta'd

 

## Leönalta

Elladan and Elrohir picked their way through the wasted cliffs against which the fortress of Carn Dûm abutted, leading their horses cautiously over the narrow broken track winding through the defile, a troop of Rangers fanned out beside them on either side of the buttressed towers. The grim, grey parapets  were blackened with soot and smoke billowed from windows and arrow loops while a foul reek of burning flesh arose from the bailey behind the curtain walls.

On the south eastern side of the  outer retainer, the boundary had completely collapsed due to diligent sapping, for the elves were stronger and faster than their foes had reckoned and needed no rest as yet. They had successfully undermined the foundation in one night's work, bringing down a turret protecting the postern. In vengeful triumph they had mounted an escalade through the break and taken all the southern walk walks.  

Celonlir's archers held this crumbled battlement and effectively targeted every opening, vault, and moving figure within their range. Each arrow was set aflame before being released and many of the enemy's soldiers had perished by burning, fearing to venture into the open to be cut down. The hostile squatters had ceded the outer defences and were trapped within the keep. Lacking trebuchets, springalds, ballistas, or other engines of war designed for breaching the sturdy walls of massive stone, the Wood Elves had none the less not been idle during their wait for reinforcements. Greenwood's warriors had been unable to advance, however, and by the time Aragorn returned the silvan soldiers were convinced they would all die in the vile place.

It became plain that they had suffered greatly though there had been no more casualties. At first, they had been able to hear Legolas' screams as he was tortured somewhere in the dungeons. At sunrise on the second day of the siege, the Chief of the murderous Black Riders had dragged him to the uppermost crenulation on the flat roof of the donjon and mocked the elves, promising to free the prisoner if they paid a ransom in gold and jewels. Unable to stand after a long night of horrendous torment, forced onto his knees before the hideous war lord, Legolas had managed to call out to Celonlir, demanding of his brother an honourable death.

His heart bursting in pride and breaking in sorrow, Celonlir had obeyed and loosed an arrow that surely would have freed Legolas' spirit, but the evil Chief realised the plot and shoved the prisoner aside at once. He would not have his hostage taken from him, for he could see the elves meant to destroy them to the last man and orc. The bolt had penetrated Legolas' shoulder and he had been carried off again before Celonlir could do more than kill three of the surrounding guards. Thereafter, every day at dawn, the orcs would taunt the Wood Elves from the safety of the stronghold's impenetrable keep, tossing out something that belonged to Legolas: his bow one day, his quiver the next, boots, knives, and finally his clothing, rent to shreds and stained with his blood. His cries had not been heard for two days by that time.

Into this scene of escalating despair Aragorn rode with his Rangers and two elven warriors of such renown that just to see them heartened the woodland folk and gave them hope of taking Carn Dûm. Elladan and Elrohir had been at the North Downs and returned with the silvan warriors and a fair number of Rangers and men from the surrounding villages. Introductions were rushed over as strategy was of greater importance than genteel courtesies and during the discussion it became evident that all of the woodland folk considered Legolas lost. When Celonlir told of the attempt at bartering, the twins shared a look of cold horror, for the Sindarin prince seemed not to understand that such a transaction might actually have purchased the younger prince's release before now.

"You have had little dealings with the sort of criminal holed up there in yon castle," Elladan could not stop his tongue.

"This is so yet we will defeat them. I will not leave Legolas in their possession. We were but awaiting reinforcements to attack the keep. Together we can destroy them utterly so that at least I can inform our Adar that they paid ten-fold for the immortal life of his youngest child." Celonlir was so consumed with rage and grief that it seemed unlikely he would live much past performing this filial duty.

"Legolas may be alive still," the elder son of Elrond persisted. "An assault of the sort you suggest will insure his execution. He was taken to vouchsafe their retreat and even now his life is all that stands between these fiends and death. They will not have killed him yet; call for a truce and bargain with the master of this fortress."

Silence followed this statement as Celonlir processed the Noldorin Lord's meaning. An expression of such stricken anguish passed through his eyes that it was painful to behold; it was as if his soul had turned to dust and smothered the fire of his wrath, leaving the slow-burning consumption of bitter remorse. "Is this possible?" he demanded in a voice so hoarse and raw that his countrymen winced. The prince turned to Aragorn for confirmation.

"Nothing is certain in such a dire situation," the Ranger said in cautious compassion. "These are not the Wraiths of Dol Guldur, however, and the goal of these murderous rogues was undoubtedly gold rather than vengeance or spiteful hatred. For this purpose was your caravan attacked; such assaults are common in the north country and many merchants refuse to venture here for fear of being killed for their money and goods. This lot will try to salvage their hides by any means. It would be an effective tactic, enabling our forces to position themselves for a surprise attack while the bargaining takes place."

"Elladan and I will work our way behind the castle along the ridge, for from those heights we should be able to target them easily as they come forth," Elrohir added, for he knew his brother's mind and the plan therein. "Keep the main force of your archers here where the Chief can see them. He will not suspect that two of the First-born are about to burst in through the back door."

And thus it was decided. 

Elladan and Elrohir had an advantage the current residents of Carn Dûm could not imagine. They had learned of the fortress firsthand, for they had fought with Glorfindel against the Witch King of Angmar in the Battle of Fornost. Like many strongholds, the Wraith's castle had a secret escape. The twins hoped to use the concealed exit to gain the interior while the Rangers attacked from the outside. With the combined distraction of the elves on their south flank and the assault at their backs, it was hoped the cowardly foes would surrender. At the very least, the ploy should grant enough confusion to permit locating Legolas, alive or dead, and bringing him out.

It was with great relief that Elrohir spied the hidden outlet and determined it was both still intact and had been forgotten by the inhabitants. The small excavated portal led into the ridge and was unguarded. It descended steeply but the passage was tall enough for a man to pass through unstooped and the twins prepared to infiltrate the castle. Their memory supplied the layout of the interior at the tunnel's other end and they knew this was in the pantry of the stronghold. They took with them water and medical supplies in a pack, torches, swords, and two Rangers to protect their retreat once they had recovered the captive elf.

"Watch for our signal," Elladan warned the remaining troops behind the castle. "We will fire an arrow from the window in the north west corner, there," he pointed to an open square near the base of the tall severe keep in the centre of the bailey. "It will bear a ribbon tail of blue."

"As soon as you see it, mount the assault but keep the orcs away from this exit. We should not be long," concluded Elrohir.

Into the tomb-like burrow they paced and once beyond the reach of sunlight lit the torches. Nothing barred their path and they thanked the Powers no cave-ins had occurred and no part of the passage was collapsed. They burst through the trap door in the kitchen floor, swords drawn and ready for resistance, but only the terrified cook and a scullery maid witnessed their arrival. These were plainly slaves for they showed ample signs of starvation and abuse; their amazement to behold elves in their dingy, dismal world was surpassed only by the light of hope that flared brightly in their haggard faces.

"Go; there are soldiers at the other end who will aid you to freedom," promised Elrohir before chasing after Elladan's fast retreating form. The Rangers hurried after and one fired off the signal through the designated window.

A muffled cry of surprise and pain alerted Elrohir that his brother had located the gaol and killed the guard blocking the way. When he reached the cooling body, the barrier was thrown open and he could see Elladan running down the steps, the light of the torch casting a dancing cloak of golden light all around him.  The younger twin instructed the Rangers to stand watch at the door and followed.

It was not hard to find him, there were only four cells  and Legolas was in the first. Elladan was already within but on the threshold Elrohir hesitated for the space of two heart beats. The scene was too familiar. His senses were assaulted with the recollection of his mother's captivity and her condition when at last they had rescued her. The smell of damp stone slickened with immortal blood, the chill stench of dank stale air, tainted with the acrid odours of waste and urine, the unbearable silence that bespoke either death or its near approach, all these were well know in a way they should never be.

Elrohir shook himself in concert with the cold shiver that ran up his spine. That was not his mother in there, bound to a beam supporting the roof. Elladan was already kneeling next to the pale, motionless elf and Elrohir stepped inside, bringing the light of his torch to assist his brother, for Elladan had cast his down. The illumination revealed a body beaten and broken.

Legolas had been stripped and tied facing the rough column while standing but his strength to do so must have given out long ago. He was suspended in a most unpleasant position, hands far above his  head taking nearly all of his weight, legs splayed out awkwardly while his knees did not quite touch  the ground. He must have struggled and thrashed against his bonds for one shoulder was dislocated and the surrounding tissue swollen and bruised.

His head drooped against his strained arms and what could be seen of it was discoloured with dried blood and dark contusions. Legolas had been bludgeoned brutally and his entire body was covered in welts, lashes, and open wounds. One leg still had the black shafts of arrows protruding and in his shoulder a third had been broken off. None of the injuries had been tended and indeed it appeared the brutes had used the arrow wounds in their tortures, for they were jagged and gaping as if the missiles had been yanked out and then thrust back in multiple times. There was no sign that the elf was still breathing.

Elladan's fingers were pressed against the captive's neck, seeking a pulse and he visibly relaxed when he found it. "Alive!" he called over his shoulder in triumph. "He must be very strong for they have not been gentle. Legolas? Can you hear me?" He drew his dagger to cut the ropes and hesitated. There was no place on Legolas' body where he could take hold and give support that would not also cause him extreme pain. At the same time, he could not simply allow him to drop to the filthy floor.

"Aye, he would be strong growing up in Mirkwood. Just cut him lose and let us be gone from this place, muindor. Do not wake him; the move will be too jarring and painful," Elrohir admonished too late for a low cry from the battered elf interrupted him.

The wounded warrior stirred, feebly trying to bring his legs under him and relieve the agony in his arms and shoulders. Instantly someone wrapped an arm about his back and lifted him. He gasped and groaned a long low lament, for it was horrible and wonderful all at the same time. He tilted his head back to see who was supplying this aid and his feverish mind reeled. "Leönalta?" he whispered, gazing with amazed gratitude into the compassionate grey eyes of the  luminescent being holding him up, dagger poised and ready. "I am glad; I feared to die alone." He tipped his head further and exposed his throat to make the task easier for his saviour.

"Nay!" Elladan was shocked. "I am not here to give you death but to carry you away from it!" He wasted no time and severed the ropes. Legolas slumped into his arms while the bloodless limbs flopped uselessly to either side, their burden finally over. One sharp cry was all the captive could manage as consciousness fled. Elladan gathered the limp body up and rose, meeting Elrohir's eyes in fiery wrath. There was no point trying to treat such injuries in the cell or force the elf to take water when he barely breathed.  No words were needed and the two left the vile place quickly.  

The Rangers cast grim and less than optimistic looks upon the huddled body borne in Elladan's embrace but said nothing, for they were familiar enough with the twins to know that it was better not to impede their plans or challenge their decisions. The men also knew from Aragorn the history of their mother's departure, and thus if Elladan was compelled to try and salvage this dying wreck of a warrior then it could be understood if not condoned. In the clearer light of the open kitchen, Legolas' condition was even worse to behold and both men thought it more cruel than kind for the woodland prince to linger in suffering before finding the peace of death. It was not the kind of end a warrior would wish.

By now the attack was at its peak in full blown savagery and blood letting gore, for the Wood Elves were unrelenting and would avenge their prince's torment. Through the frenzy of battle madness rushed Elladan and Elrohir and their guards, dodging fighting combatants locked in death's graceless dance, back into the passage and down the long stone corridor to the relative calm of the craggy ridge. They barrelled out of the doorway at a run, calling for their horses and mounting up as quickly as possible while hurting the victim the least they could.

"Take word to Celonlir his brother lives," Elrohir called to one of the Rangers. "We are for Rivendell!" and they sped away from the carnage and the destruction.

They did not stop until the need of the horses forced a halt. Elrohir found a sheltered spot amid a small stand of alders and there helped his brother assess the severity of Legolas' wounds. They laid him down upon Elladan's cloak and used the water to bathe away the grime and filth ground into the lashes and cuts. The arrows were removed and it was then they discovered the left leg was badly broken, a jagged fragment of bloody bone protruding through the archer's calf. They could not leave it thus.

"I will do it; you keep him still," Elrohir decided, seeing that Elladan was already stricken by the Wood Elf's plight.

Elladan nodded and took hold of Legolas' shoulders to keep him from inadvertently interfering with Elrohir's treatment. No sooner had the younger brother begun than the forest warrior awoke in screaming terror, struggling to get free of Elladan's grip. "Be still! We do not mean to hurt you; we do what we must to aid you," he assured, hoping the delirious elf could understand him.

Legolas fell to helpless trembling, one hand fisted in the elder twins garments and hair, the other clutching the cape beneath him, staring wild eyed into those comforting steely orbs. "Leönalta, it is not time?" he rasped out.

"Nay, you are not going to die, Legolas," Elladan stated firmly. "We will take you to Imladris; you will be healed there."

"Stay with me?" the warrior pleaded. "Until my final breath? Please, I fear to die alone."

"You will not die!" Elladan insisted and shook the rigid, weary body just a bit.

"Stay," the whispered plea repeated. "Promise me." The suffering soul stared through the archer's glittering blue eyes and encountered the glorious resilience in Elladan's feä, its ethereal signature passed through Melian, its unfathomable mystery donated through Tuor's edain blood, its indomitable wisdom the legacy of Idril and all the First Born of her lineage. So different in composition was Elladan's soul from any ordinary edhel's spirit, Legolas could not but be drawn to such a combination of strength, beauty, and power.  

Elladan was caught. He believed he knew exactly what Melian must have felt the moment her eyes had joined with Thingol's. He could feel Legolas' soul, faint and fragile, buffeting against his heart like a moth against a window pane, seeking a means to reach the light just there inside. He knew at once that he could utterly possess this wild, untamed warrior's spirit and the lure of that was incredibly tempting. It did not take him long to make up his mind, which was a source of internal amusement and surprise, for Elladan had a reputation for lengthy consideration before any serious decision.

What was there to weigh against it? Here was a promise of total commitment offered with nothing more desired in return than an equal covenant to remain steadfast. Legolas would never leave his side save by dire necessity. Legolas could see his soul and loved it already, regardless the name he chose to assign to Elladan. Legolas needed him for surely there was not light enough left in his own soul to restore him fully. Without relatives or loved ones, the Wood Elf reached out to Elladan and to refuse meant nothing less than damning him to a slow, torturous demise of wasting agony.   

"Fear no more," Elladan answered, his hand releasing the Wood Elf's shoulder to gently touch the blackened cheek and caress the blood and sweat soaked crown of hair. "My promise is given. We shall not be parted until you breathe your last. I will stay." 

Elrohir stopped what he was doing and gazed in wonder at the scene unfolding, overwhelmed in both joy and stunned disbelief to witness this event.  In claiming Legolas, Elladan had claimed the immortal heritage of the First Born.

His brother had joined him at last.

 

_Continued_   



	5. Consummation

#  _Leonalta_

__  
by erobey  
unbeta'd

 

## Consummation

In the subdued atmosphere of the dining hall in the Last Homely House, Elrond Half-elven was silently weeping in helpless gratitude, head buried in his arms upon the table. He could not harness the overwhelming emotions, shamefully aware that his joy had been brought about at the expense of Legolas' health and well-being, and cared not who witnessed his display of raw feeling. Though he knew it was inappropriate to be happy over such a horrendous series of events, he was unable to stifle his gladness for the outcome produced. Wordlessly he thanked the Valar for Legolas and swore to hold him in his heart as dearly as he did his own children.

In sympathy, Arwen rose and went to him, her own tears raining upon him as she encircled her father's stooped shoulders in her arms and rested her cheek upon his bowed head. Aragorn joined her, silently soothing a hand over her shuddering back as she sobbed and mumbled incoherent words of pleading and encouragement against her father's hair. A pang of guilt assailed the man for he knew she wept not over the Wood Elf's plight or her brother's decision, but for the pain she must inflict on her Adar when at last she revealed to him her own choice, made not so long ago. The ring of Barahir was not upon her finger but rather on a chain around her neck, concealed from view beneath her garments, for she had not found courage sufficient to speak of this with Elrond.

Celonlir stood and moved to the opposite side of the table where Elrohir sat and offered the younger twin his hand. "Muindor," he said brusquely, struggling to hold in his own flood of emotions after hearing the recount of his brother's rescue.

Elrohir rose also but did not take the proffered arm, instead embracing the Sindarin prince in a tight hug. "Muindor," he repeated, smiling as he stepped back. "I cannot tell you how much I love Legolas for Elladan's sake, and in turn bear goodwill toward you because of Legolas."

"Well said," approved Glorfindel. "This is a grand day! Erestor, I think we must make plans for a feast of celebration." 

"So it would seem," agreed the seneschal, wiping discreetly at his midnight eyes. He got up from the table and squeezed Elrond's biceps in passing as he moved toward the door. "We were both right, mellon vrûn. (old friend) There was someone unknown yet dear to him in deadly peril and he made the decision without waiting to take your counsel."

At this point, Lindir broke down completely and collapsed in noisy bawling against Glorfindel's shoulder. The Balrog Slayer had no choice but to console the minstrel, not that he was opposed to having the gentle-hearted singer in his arms. It was just that he was not sure if Lindir was disconsolate over Legolas' bonding with Elladan because he desired the Wood Elf or because he hungered after Elladan. He had just decided it did not matter either way, since he was now the beneficiary of the harpist's affections, when Lindir lifted his tear streaked countenance and spoke through his ragged, jarring sobs.

"Oh, Glorfindel, is this not the most romantic story you have heard in centuries? I shall compose an epic ballad to preserve it for all eternity!"

The veteran of numerous battles and dire catastrophes was forced to duck his head against the minstrel's shoulder in order to stifle his response, for he did not wish to embarrass Lindir by bursting into ringing laughter. As it was, Glorfindel's quaking frame and tight hold around the surprised singer looked and sounded the same as grief ravaged wailing.

Into this confusing scene strode the King of the Woodland realm, wild eyed and frantic. He had out run his entourage and arrived at the Last Homely House just as Elrohir was finishing his part of the story. With no one present to grant him leave to enter, Thranduil decided he was of high enough status to grant it to himself. He wandered through the front hall and picked up the tell-tale sounds of grief and woe, honing in on them like a beacon. Throwing open the doors to the dining hall, he took in the despairing sobs and copious tears and in his worry ridden heart made the wrong conclusion.

"Ai Legolas! Not my Tuiw Laes!" (Baby Sprout) He dropped to his knees and beat upon the ground with his fists. "You cannot do this!" he raged at all the Valar in general and Námo in particular. "I will come hence and take him from your cold, dark halls, you accursed meddler!"

"Ada!" Celonlir exclaimed and ran to him, horrified. "Be at peace, he lives!"

Shocked into composure by Thranduil's abrupt intrusion and heart-wrenching display of parental despair, Elrond pulled free of Arwen and hurried to the King's bent and bellowing form. "It is true, Thranduil, Legolas will recover. Please forgive this…this exhibition of over-wrought souls. It has been a harrowing time for all involved." The Lord of Imladris spoke firmly and his steady tone gained the King's attention.

"You speak the truth, Elrond?"  Thranduil demanded in a shaking voice as he allowed his eldest to help him to his feet.

"It is so, Ada, you will see for yourself soon enough," assured Celonlir.

"Then why all this mourning ululation?" demanded the upset father, sweeping his hand out to include everyone's sniffly, hiccuppy lack of composure.

"There is joy to be found, mellonen," (my friend) Elrond nodded and smiled in bemusement at the moisture he wiped from his cheeks, "but there was much endured to reach it. We have both of us narrowly escaped losing a son; that is reason enough to shed tears. Yet let us take comfort in the fact that each of our families shall instead become enriched."

"I do not understand," growled Thranduil. "Why must the Noldorin folk always talk in such long-winded riddles? Just tell me: where is my Tuiw Laes?"

"Oh!" Celonlir's eyes bulged, remembering where Legolas was and what he was currently doing. It would not do for their father to find out about Elladan by discovering the pair joined in bonded bliss. "You cannot see him just now, Adar."

"Why not?"

"Nay, that would not be advisable," chimed in Elrohir, shaking his head vigourously as if doing so would discourage any such notion from taking root in the King's thoughts.

"Indeed, Legolas is certain to be tired and in need of rest for a time," grinned Glorfindel with a wink and pinched Lindir's bottom, eliciting a startled yelp and a rapid flush of crimson over the minstrel's features that was not all due to embarrassment.

Arwen tried but failed to silence a lurid giggle over this prelude to seduction and Aragorn rolled his eyes heaven-ward, presented as he was with further proof of his fiancée's obsession with male elven coupling.

By this time Thranduil was frowning, for he was no fool and could figure out the implications plainly enough. He rounded with narrowed eyes and fisted hands upon his first-born. "Who is it?" he demanded. "That inu-raug, Gelirnell? (she-devil, Merry Bell) Or perhaps  his archery instructor Anariell, (Sun Maiden) that conniving social climber? Tell me!"

"N…Nay, Ada, it is neither one," Celonlir defended these worthy soldiers under his captaincy though it was true both lusted openly after his little brother. It did not escape his notice that his father had not included Ûrrusc (Fire Fox) in the list, a solemn, dignified male warrior and Celonlir's second in command, who had desired Legolas for centuries. The elder prince had become quite pale and everyone else in the vicinity edged discreetly away from the royals.

Thranduil took a deep breath, held it as everyone silently counted with him to pae (ten), then exhaled as he uncurled his fingers and pressed them against his eyes, repeating the breathe-and-count technique Galion had taught him for stress control many many aeons ago.  The king lowered his hands and smiled kindly at his son. "It is well, ion vinui, (first son) just tell me who it is. I will not be angry with you; I give my word of honour."

Celonlir swallowed and flicked a nervous glance at first Elrohir and then Elrond. "I think we should allow Legolas to give you the news, Adar. He is no child, after all, and it is his responsibility to reveal to you his heart's desire, not mine."

"Nay, this is nonsense," argued Elrohir, suddenly angry that anyone might be other than overjoyed to learn their child had chosen to bond with his brother, even if said child was also male.

"Elrohir, it is not your place…" Elrond attempted to interrupt.

"It is Elladan. They are completely devoted to one another, King Thranduil," the younger twin would not be deterred and continued, "and it will lift your heart to see the love between them. They are consummating the union even as we speak."

A very dense and unbelievably tense silence filled the room. Indeed, it seemed to its occupants that even the birds had stopped singing and the Bruinen ceased spilling over the chasm into the hidden vale's fair lands. Several seconds passed by as Thranduil stared in glassy, glazed disbelief at the younger of Elrond's twin sons. No one knew what to think or what to do. It was safe to say everyone had temporarily suspended respiration until the King gave some indication of his state of mind.

And so he complied.

With unforeseen rapidity, Thranduil's eyes rolled back in his head and he keeled over in a dead swoon, landing on the floor with a stentorious crash reminiscent of a mighty beech felled by a dwarven axe.

Completely oblivious to all the external drama and commotion taking place in the dining hall, Legolas and Elladan were engrossed in their own predicament.

As soon as Aragorn had shut the doors, Elladan had scooped up his Wood Elf and deposited him carefully on the bed. He tossed the soaked robe back onto the floor and gently took up the afflicted leg. It was evident the fractured bones in the calf were again misaligned and Legolas was biting his lower lip to prevent voicing the discomfort created by the careful palpating of his beloved's fingers.

"I am sorry, Legolas. It will need to be re-set," Elladan finally spoke. He reached to the bedside table and began to open the small coloured jars, mixing several of the powders together in a glass. Into this he poured ample water and stirred it vigourously as Legolas watched.

"Is that the same formula you used last time?" he asked, of two minds where the potent drug was concerned. On the one hand, he was quite weary of pain and had no wish to be incapacitated by wrenching agony for the next several hours, especially when he so longed to conclude their interrupted love-making. Yet Legolas did not want his reactions impeded either, for he desired to experience every moment of their bonding with a clear mind rather than dulled senses. How would it be to share such a wondrous event with his beloved and not be able to recall it the next day? "I do not want to fall asleep too soon."

"I promise that will not happen," Elladan smirked and leaned down to kiss his impatient lover, "at least not until I am done with you."

Legolas smiled too and permitted his beloved Leönalta to raise him up and administer the potion, compliantly swallowing all of it down despite its acerbic aftertaste. "Some miruvor would make it work all the quicker and then you can get this over with so we may go down to the elm grove, yes?" he pleaded.

"Nay," Elladan disagreed. "I almost lost you to an overdose the third day you were here. The miruvor sometimes reacts quite strangely with one of those herbs and you have already shown yourself sensitive to its effects."

"I do not remember that," Legolas' eyes were wide in alarm.

"And I am glad of it; you were so terribly ill. However, a small glass of wine would not harm you." He went inside to retrieve the golden vintage and handed his beloved a small goblet with little more than a mouthful, just enough to chase away the taste of the medicine.

"What now?" Legolas asked, already feeling a warm slowness seeping through his bones and easing the jagged pain hammering within his injured leg. 

"Oh," sighed Elladan, fondling his lover's relaxed genitalia carefully. "Now I get to play with you, teasing your body into an absolute frenzy of erotic arousal until you beg in tears for me to penetrate you fully and make you mine forever."

Legolas shivered and carefully spread his healthy leg aside to encourage this plan, wrapping both arms around Elladan's neck as his lover bent low to claim his lips once more. When the kiss ended Legolas did not wish to let go and so he did not, lightly pressing his lips all over Elladan's beaming countenance and laughing as his beloved tried to squirm out of his hold.

Elladan resigned himself to captivity and changed his strategy, lapping and sucking a fine plum coloured passion mark on the archer's long slender neck. A brief panic hit him when Legolas sighed and arched his head back in order to allow easier access, for it recalled too vividly that moment in the cell when he had first looked into the silvan's tormented eyes. Quickly Elladan distracted his mind from such dark thoughts by licking his way up to the pink tip of a perfectly pointed ear and nibbling it lightly while one hand found and squeezed a tight, hard nipple. This, he had learned, drove Legolas to complete abandon and this day was no exception.

The archer sang out a garbled combination of syllables in which Elladan's name was haphazardly blended with assorted  moans and wails of rising excitation. He writhed under the dark haired elf's touch, trying with all his might to drag his lover down atop him. Elladan was not co-operating, however, and reluctantly Legolas finally let go for he found himself with insufficient strength to continue the struggle, his arms falling limp beside him on the mattress, relaxing in complete submission, trusting Leönalta in whatever he might wish to do to him.

And that was temptation on a level Elladan found extremely difficult to resist. The urge to take Legolas immediately was strong, yet he fought against it,  for the bone still needed tending and this was not how or where his beloved wished their first joining to be. Elladan heaved a dramatic sigh and wrenched himself away from the enticing form, noting with pride that his lover was fully erect even after such a small amount of foreplay. Of course, he was too, and Elladan flushed with even greater joy to see that Legolas was admiring him in exactly the same manner. 

"First things first," he said stoically and sat on the edge of the mattress. With quick,  adept  fingers he unbuckled the clasps of the brace and removed it, worrying a little over the bruises and sore spots the leather straps had rubbed on Legolas' skin. The silvan had not complained of these even once. "You did not tell me the harness was chaffing so badly," he said. "I will have to do something to cushion it."

"It is not so bad and really there is little that can be done. It is bound to scrape the skin when I am moving about. I cannot stay motionless, Elladan, or I would go mad. Promise you will not say anything to your father or he will try to make me give up the staff and…" His words stopped instantly as Elladan manipulated the displaced ends of broken bone, re-seating them flush one against the other. A sharp breath left Legolas' lungs and he ground out an irritated growl. "You might have warned me," he grumbled, but really he was pleased it was over.  The shooting stars of agony receded as rapidly as they had exploded, for the drug did its work well.

Elladan soothed a cool ointment over the raw blisters and reattached the harness and brace, locking the injured leg in position. "Sorry. Your thoughts were distracted and that seemed the best opportunity. Now then, you will rest and recover from the procedure while I see to a few pressing matters. You are not to try and get up, agreed?"

"Where are you going? I thought we would spend the whole day together. What are you going to do? I cannot rest if my mind is filled with such questions, Elladan," Legolas complained, but already his eyes were growing weary of staying in focus and his lover's face became a fuzzy blur. "Ai, you were not supposed to put me to sleep," he whined softly, already adrift in dreams, and within a few heartbeats was dozing lightly.

Elladan smiled, for this was just as he had intended. He had become quite accomplished in herb-lore over the time Legolas had been under his care and knew to an exact degree the specific combination and quantity of drugs required to induce a gentle slumber that would prove refreshing but not result in lethargic disorientation as its effects wore off. He had not wished to ruin Legolas' short repose by setting the bone while he was unconscious for that would only have jarred him awake in a most unpleasant way. Elladan had different plans for how to rouse Legolas.

Everything must be perfect if only for this one short span of hours in all the time since the creation of Arda, even  unto its ending. The need to provide for Legolas the most erotically romantic experience his mind could invent had become nearly an obsession for Elladan. This consummation was something he yearned for with equal urgency and he hoped to convey that compulsion to Legolas; it was as necessary for his soul's continuation as it was for Legolas'. He longed to erase the doubts and fears from his beloved's mind and repair the tattered soul for good and all, to possess the silvan completely and hold him within the protection of his embrace, safe from harm for ever more.

The archer never mentioned what he had endured during his captivity and Elladan was certainly not going to press him to do so. There was no need; they both knew what had happened. The physical signs of the assaults had healed rapidly in the normal elven way, but the silvan's thoughts were beset with turmoil and his heart still bled with the deep-seated shame and humiliation wrought by the violation of his body.

As he had begun to recoup his health and discovered that his attraction to Elladan was more than a spiritual one, Legolas fell more and more frequently into depression and malaise. He was confused by his beloved's refusal to initiate intimate intercourse. They petted and stimulated each other to completion frequently, this was true, but never would Elladan suggest penetration. Legolas believed it was because the taint of his foul assailants marked his flesh and his lover was repulsed by it.

Whenever these dark thoughts threatened to undermine the progress the silvan was making, Elladan let him speak of it in whatever way he was able. Usually this was a veiled request for restatement of the vow given that first day they had met. It did not wound Elladan to see these doubts arise, for he knew his own reluctance to couple with Legolas was the cause. He was determined, however, not to force upon the silvan warrior adherence to a pledge made during such extreme conditions, for Legolas' mind had barely been his own. Yet as the days passed his own heart began to ache with the pain of their separation and he came to understand that what he had meant as a means to ensure the validity of their bond was in fact hurting them both.

So on this day he would end their torment and at last permit himself to claim his beloved. Elladan hastily threw on some leggings and a shirt and set about recreating the elm grove into a lover's haven. He carried abundant pillows and blankets to lay upon the grass, first painstakingly removing every pebble and twig from the ground beneath the trees. He made sure the makeshift bed was soft enough. He inspected it to insure that no leaves of stems or little bugs got within its silken covers, for while Legolas might revel in being naked in the grass, Elladan had no wish for such mundane examples of Yavanna's creations to work they way into crevices and cavities in which nature never intended they should go.

He gathered the amber wine, a basket of Legolas' favourite foods, the jar of soothing ointment,  water for washing, and clean robes for afterward. Elladan picked an armload of Buddleia blossoms and tied bunches to the branches because the silvan warrior loved their sweet scent. He even coaxed a pair of yellow songbirds to roost on the limbs above the bower, for Legolas had been thrilled to see and hear them, such creatures not being residents  of his homeland. When all of this was done, Elladan carried his sleeping Wood Elf down to the transformed grove.

Legolas had stirred a bit but then snuggled back into Elladan's protective clasp, his eyes gaining sharper focus as he breathed in deeply to ensure by both sight and scent that it was Leönalta and no other who carried him. Since the captivity, he had been wary of physical contact with anyone save Elladan; even his brother's hugs he endured with hesitant restraint. That was one of the many small changes in the archer's personality Celonlir hoped would vanish over time.  By the time Elladan laid him in the sumptuous nest of silk and pillows, Legolas had drifted back into a comfortable, light dream state.

Elladan settled beside his lover and just watched for a time, for Legolas was stunningly beautiful and the elder twin could hardly believe he had won this fair creature's heart. The injuries had been so severe it had been impossible at first to guess what the Wood Elf really looked like, but as each day passed and healing progressed, the archer had grown more and more alluring. Now here was, an image of physical perfection in face and form, and Legolas found only Elladan worthy of his affections.

"I cannot think what I have done to warrant such generosity from Eru," he whispered, bending close to his lover's ear and taking a tentative taste of its pointed tip. He smiled when this evoked a shuddery gasp and Legolas' head canted over to encourage more of the same. "I do not care how or why I was brought to you or whether it was the other way round, not really. It is enough to have you here. It is enough to love you. To receive your heart in return, this is an abundance of grace I never expected."

With that, Elladan took the point between his lips and sucked it, running his tongue over the sensitised pinnacle in a seductive rhythm as he hummed a soulful groan of desire.

Legolas sighed, a sweet sound just shy of a whispery moan, and permitted a smile to drift across his features as his consciousness gradually honed in on the delicious sensation.

Not satisfied with this, Elladan's fingers caressed the line of the archer's elegant throat,  paused over the accelerating pulse, moved down over his chest, and tweaked the rising red buds adorning the firm, sculpted muscles there. Legolas' flesh was as delectably succulent as a dish of raspberries and cream and Elladan intended to partake to his fill. He left the ear and kissed his way to an erect nipple, plunging his tongue against it, sucking gently, breathing over the wet, warm tantalising skin.

That brought Legolas awake with a warbling wail of pure delight as his body arched up into the feasting mouth and his hands reached out instinctively for Elladan, grabbing unerringly onto his lover's proud, hard erection where it pressed against his side. The silvan's eyes focused as a giddy smile lit his features, turning when Elladan's lips released him, meeting his beloved's fiery gaze with an equally lusty gleam. Their mouths lunged for union and joined forcefully,  tongues duelling and hot breath passing between their aching lungs. All the while, Legolas worked the distended organ filling his fist, relishing the thick, solid weight of it and the strong provacative aroma of the pearly fluid seeping from the tiny orifice, coating his hand, infiltrating his skin.

Then Elladan broke free with a grating cry as he seized silvan's wrist to stop the exquisite stimulation before he spent too soon. "Ai, not so fast!" he panted out, kissing the palm of the eager hand and placing it over his heart. "I want to take my time; I want to spill inside you."

"I want that, too" Legolas shuddered and his cock twitched between his thighs just to think of it. He pulled his beloved in for another long kiss, burying his eager hands in the long ebony tresses spilling over his torso and tickling his tummy.

Elladan's hands were back at pulling and squeezing the ripe, rosy nipples as his beloved strained to enhance the contact , whimpering pleadingly as he wriggled and tugged to get closer. Elladan once more broke free and sat back, observing in enthralled wonder as Legolas' arms fell to the ground, splayed out above his head, and he growled in disappointment.

Then the lapis coloured eyes flashed wickedly and the slender, talented hands repositioned, one to fondle the inflamed pleasure pips as the other surrounded his long svelte shaft. Elladan did not know where to focus his attention: the index finger slowly circling and then flicking the protruding points or the hand working the pink column of rigid flesh. The sound of that hand, slapping faintly as it pumped the engorged cock, decided the dilemma and Elladan watched the head grow darker and wetter with each pass as Legolas' hips began to thrust into the pulsing rhythm.

"Stop!" Elladan abruptly called out, torn between the excitement of seeing Legolas lose himself in orgasmic pleasure, creamy semen cascading over his thighs and fist, and wanting to know the sensation of that slippery, smoky fluid coating his own hand as Legolas came. When his beloved obeyed instantly, trembling and gasping, hands disengaging, the dark-haired warrior's pupils dilated in unhidden excitation over this unlooked for control over Legolas' responses. Elladan licked his lips.

"You must not do that. Hear me; you are mine, Miphileg. Skin and bone and flesh and blood, all mine. Heart and soul and thoughts, these belong to me now." His words held the Wood Elf enscorcelled, mutely nodding assent, eyes locked upon his, and he smiled as he pointed to the protruding organ rising from the nest of golden curls, waiting until those eyes followed the digit there. "Your cock is mine; not a drop of seed must fountain from its tip lest I command it." 

Elladan dipped his head down and licked the weeping crown of the slickened head, tasting and savouring the sensation as his tongue ran over the smooth, throbbing glans, thrilling to the strangled cry that erupted from Legolas' throat as he pivoted his arse off the soft bed of quilts to plunge deeply into his lover's throat. Elladan let him, delighting in the unbridled passion surging through his lover as Legolas sought his release. When it was imminent, Elladan clamped around the base and pinched the ducts shut.

The silvan wailed pitifully and twitched in helpless need as the tongue continued to lave the tingling slit and a second set of fingers played delicately with the heavy balls clustered at the root. A rumbling vibration tore through him, spreading through every nerve and and sinew of his being with maddening exhilaration, and Legolas expelled every ounce of breath in his body in a long moan of tormented craving. "Please, Leönalta, please."

The desperation in the  entreaty moved Elladan and he relented, taking away all contact and staring in avid appreciation at the dark maroon cock piercing the air all shiny and slippery with saliva and milt. He shivered, imagining that sleek, solid shape spearing him instead. Aye, that too shall be mine to enjoy, but not this time. His heart fairly sang in jubilation, knowing this was but the beginning of bonded bliss and countless years stretched before them, thousands of moments to spend exploiting the intimate pleasures of such union.

"I want you, Elladan, will you deny me always?"  this barely audible lament, welling with unshed tears, tore through the hazy gauze of racing desire and focused the elder elf on his partner with an intense spike of remorse.

"Oh Legolas, I will not refuse anything you desire," he promised gathering the trembling body close and covering whatever spot of skin was available with kisses. "I love you and I want to  make you mine. Trust me; I promise I will not disappoint your expectations."

Legolas remained silent and tense, for how could he say that his expectation was that Elladan would stop, as he had done each time, too overcome with disgust to insert his rigid penis where others' had emptied their dirty, distended cocks before. A searing band of anguish constricted around his heart as Elladan disentangled from their embrace and sidled away. He felt certain he could not endure much longer, knowing he was too ruined to ever really become one with his soul-mate, and a dry sob shook him to the core.

Thus Legolas was completely unprepared when hands rolled him to his side and grasped his rear, parting the mounds  to permit a fiery, probing tongue to tease the exposed anus. He gave a hoarse cry and jerked under the sensual massage. The mobile muscle danced around the tight ring, tickling the puckered hole repeatedly until Legolas began to relax under the insistent liquid pressure, trilling out a glad cry of surprise. The image of Elladan crouched behind him, hot red tongue blanketing his most vulnerable zone with heat that was simultaneously comforting and erotic burst upon his mind. He shifted the braced leg higher, hoping Elladan would do more. Almost instantly the tongue wormed inside him.

"Leönalta," he whispered and tried to move as best he could to encourage the intruding organ. He could feel Elladan's breath on his arse as he panted with the effort and it took great restraint for the archer to refrain from manipulating his cock in concert with the pulsing penetration. His hands could not reach his beloved and in frustration he snatched at the coverlets beneath him, holding on as if he feared to be forcibly torn from the place.

The tongue withdrew and with a suddenness born of intense yearning Elladan lunged forward, looming over Legolas as he lifted the damaged leg out of the way and and rocked the dripping head of his hard cock against the small opening. "Miphileg," he panted in strained urgency, "I have no wish to hurt you. Tell me if it does. Promise!" His frenzied visage, filled with longing and love, peered into the silvan's and held the desire-darked navy eyes as Legolas nodded his assent, too overwhelmed to speak.

Elladan inhaled and held the air, pushing forward with slow, relentless force, breaching the ring of guarding muscle with a loud grunt of triumph as Legolas bucked back against the intrusion. Another deep breath and then Elladan thrust hard, trusting the light in his lover's adoring gaze, relishing the sensation of penetrating the hot, tight channel. Gulping greedily for breath, he paused, arms shaking with the effort to restrain himself, and took a moment to look at what he had done. It was exhilarating; his solid length of excited flesh buried up the archer's arse, their sweaty flesh locked together, the sensitive skin of his balls just laying on the firm, round cheeks, Legolas' glittering eyes bathing him in enraptured love and wanton surrender.

"More," Legolas demanded, shifting enough to make the thick cock jerk inside him and rub against his sweet spot. They ground out matched exclamations of languishing deprivation and simultaneously burst into motion, Legolas pushing back, Elladan shoving forward, working with all their strength to achieve this ultimate union of body and soul.

Elladan did not bother to attempt forming any coherent answer to his love's demand, pulling back and slamming into the burning friction, thrusting in and out, pounding against the willing body, lost in the sensation of fucking this amazing, erotic, beautiful, brave, resilient warrior in his possession. He found himself working to elicit more of his mate's squirming, heaving, writhing contortions and their accompanying cries of mounting ecstasy. He listened as Legolas repeatedly shouted his name, watched spellbound as he pounded against the ground with his fists, clawing at the covers, tried to brace himself with his healthy leg to enhance the penetration.

The delicious pressure built within him, compounding with every thrust, collecting in his penis and swelling it until he was sure he would never be able to pull it out of the confining muscles gripping so relentlessly. Elladan sang out in jubilation, his spirit ready to break loose and mingle with his lover's the moment his seed shot from the aching pinnacle of his engorged cock. He reached for Legolas' hand, uncurling the rigid fist and entwining their fingers together, seeking to look into his eyes at the instant of their mutual culmination. The blistery expression of imploring ferocity that greeted him jogged Elladan's memory; he had forbidden Legolas to come until so instructed.

With a desperate gasp he untangled their hands and frantically reached under the braced leg, wrapping his fist around the archer's neglected shaft, pounding the rock-hard extremity in concert with his pulsing penetrations.

"Now," he commanded and with a violent shudder and long cry Legolas came, spurting over his hand and into the sheets. Elladan gasped as the archer's muscles clenched tight around his cock and coaxed him into an orgasm of dancing light and searing pleasure. With euphoric ecstasy his streaming semen filled the rippling channel and oozed around his inflamed penis. He wished it never had to end even as the electrifying scintillations coursing through his limbs subsided and his frantic lunging slowed.

Elladan lowered his body atop his lover, resting his stomach against a sweaty hip and his forehead on a damp, hair plastered shoulder, still holding the archer's softening cock, his still buried inside the slick confinement of Legolas' flexing channel. He stayed that way for a time, recovering his strength, and by the time his pulse was back to a more sedate rhythm Elladan's cock had hardened anew, merely by considering what he had just done. And so he took Legolas again, slowly and deliberately and with such a deepening love that it brought the silvan to tears when he spilled the second time.

They remained in the elm grove through the remainder of Anor's hours and for the entirety of Ithil's reign. 

_Continued_   



	6. Obladi Oblada

#  _Leonalta_

__  
by erobey  
unbeta'd

 

## Obladi Oblada

The day was declining and Anor retreating, streaking toward the shores of Aman in a glorious blaze of gold and violet and vermilion light across the western skies. Thranduil sat upon the balcony of his suite in the Last Homely House, gazing into the painted bunting of the fading sun, aimlessly twirling a crystal goblet half filled with miruvor, thinking of nothing for there was too much, of late, to occupy his troubled thoughts. He was not alone, for Celonlir his eldest was leaning on the railing staring into space while Elrond Half-elven seemed to be counting the cracks in the plaster ceiling above their heads. They had been there for several hours, having rehashed the entire situation from start to finish for what must have been the hundredth time, determining nothing new yet not despairing either.

It had been a few days since the King's embarrassing faint in the elven Lord's dining room, a few days since the bonding of the youngest child of Thranduil to the eldest of Elrond. The Sindarin King had come to terms with it after the entire story was relayed to him. This had initiated yet another tearful but joyous exchange of friendship and goodwill between the formerly distant leaders and their families. A feast had indeed been planned, hosted, and enjoyed by all the Valley's residents and the guests from Greenwood, even though the two principals for whom the party was thrown did not make an appearance.

Legolas and Elladan remained for the most part secluded in the confines of their converted apartment, the sun-washed terrace, and the grove of elms to which it adjoined. Family were permitted access in limited numbers and for short duration if invited to tea or to bask on the patio if the weather was nice. Legolas was still self-conscious about hobbling around on the staff wearing just loose robes because he could not easily manage leggings with his brace still attached. Of course, he was not over being angry with Arwen yet and so she was banned until further notice for he could not look her in the face without  blushing bright scarlet, thinking on what she had seen.

The newly bonded couple were content with each other's company and, though they tried to be polite about it, all they really wanted was to be alone in peace. They were not shy concerning their obvious adoration and simply could not get enough of one another. No one dared enter the former morning room, now their bed-sitting room, or wander past the rose trellis or the privet hedge. The elm grove was absolutely off limits at all times as this was revealed by Elladan to be Legolas' preferred spot for their daily bathing ritual.

In fact, folks tended to avoid the entire eastern side of Elrond's palatial estate, inside or out, because at any given moment of night or day the vociferous evidence of the new couples' amorous activities might intrude upon conversation, work, or reverie prompting others to initiate similar interludes of passion with their loved ones. It was a little distracting.

Thranduil sighed, not from displeasure or discontent, but over the ache he could not soothe no matter how much miruvor Elrond tried to make him drink. He had finally spoken with Legolas and this had shaken him far worse than hearing the tale of his son's ordeal had done. It had been immediately evident that this was not the same rebellious, irreverent and irrepressible warrior he had seen off through the Forest Gate just months ago. He had been shocked by the loss in weight and the controlled but constant pain from wounds his son refused to let him see. More disturbing had been the alterations in Legolas' personality.

His heart bled at the hesitancy his youngest showed to allow even a gentle embrace from his father. Legolas could not look him in the eye for more than a few second's worth of time, and in those flashes Thranduil saw fear and shame. This cut his soul, for he knew Legolas' fear was that his father would hold him to blame for everything that had happened.

Father and son had spent the entire morning together so that Thranduil could try and root out these doubts and worries, hoping to remove this obstacle from his son's recovery. The King had no idea if anything he had said was helpful, for in the end they both were drained from tears and confessions and Legolas had at last pleaded to be returned to Elladan, who had been anxiously pacing the corridor outside the morning room the entire time. The grieving father sighed again and took another sip of the cordial. "This captivity has robbed me of the Legolas I knew, the son I raised," he murmured dejectedly.

Celonlir startled and turned to him, features ashen and haggard. The elder prince had not been sleeping well of late. "I thought the bonding would make everything right," he complained, turning to the renowned healer and lore-master "Why is Legolas still suffering so much? When will we have him back, Lord Elrond?"

"I cannot answer you, for I did not know Legolas before. You say that he has changed and I do not doubt you," Elrond began thoughtfully, choosing his words with care for they spoke openly and he had learned the hard way that Legolas' hearing was extremely acute. How the princes own family failed to have caught on to this he had no idea.  _Of course, Elladan informed me. Mayhap Legolas never revealed this to anyone back home._  The notion raised a minute smirk upon his features, for this was a characteristic more like the defiant youngster Thranduil had been given to describing in lovingly related but hilarious stories after dinner in the Hall of Fire.

"Everything we experience changes us, though, even the things we term 'good'. There can be no doubt what he endured will alter his personality somewhat. Most elves would have perished, Thranduil; you must be proud of such a strong son," Elrond continued.

"I am proud, have always been so. No father could ask for better children than have been entrusted to my care. It is that which disturbs me so, to be truthful with you. How I have failed him! He believes I would be shamed by what has happened because he feared to die. He could barely speak the words to me, and would not look into my eyes when he said them," Thranduil struggled to hold in the tears threatening to pour out again.

"Aye, Legolas has been terrified of Námo since he was an elfling," confirmed Celonlir. "He found some dreadful old religious text in the library and read it through before anyone knew he had it. It was all about the stern judgement an elf must face, the years in solitary confinement, parted from loved ones, friends, and even the natural world. He told me then he would never go there, no matter what happened to him."

Thranduil shared a wry smile with his eldest. "You know what he calls Elladan?" They chuckled together when Celonlir nodded. "Ai! What a complicated one our Tuiw Laes can be!"

"What does it mean?" Elrond smiled warily, looking from one to the other. He had heard Legolas call out this other name in the heat of passion and had wondered on it greatly, yet felt it would be crude to ask after something he was supposed to pretend he had not discerned. He had actually feared it might be the name of a former paramour, but surely Thranduil and Celonlir wound not find that amusing. "Who is this Leönalta?"

"Ah, I cannot believe you have not heard of him!" Celonlir exclaimed. "This is an old Quenya name for one of the Maia attached to Námo; said to be the great Vala's gatekeeper. It means 'Radiant Shadow'. He can get you into Mandos or set you free, very powerful sort of fellow. Described as tall and dark haired with flashing stormy eyes; carries around a shining mithril dagger. He was a kind of patron among silvan warriors in the ancient days. One would pray to him for a clean death in battle."

Elrond's brows rose in interest and surprise, still smiling faintly, relieved to know there was no jealous lover somewhere in Greenwood whom Elladan would someday have to confront.

"Why does Elladan call my brother 'Little Kiss'?" asked Celonlir in turn, hoping Elrond could clear it up.

"Well, I could invent all sorts of theories based on what I know of Elladan's character, but let us just say none of them are of a nature suitable for discussion outside the bedchamber," Elrond intoned with a shake of his head, winning a guffaw from Thranduil and a sly snicker from Celonlir at the spooning couples' expense.

Despite his joy over his eldest son's choice to remain among the First Born, Elrond could not but worry over the kind of bond his son had forged so quickly with this very much younger and somewhat enigmatic forest prince. He could not deny their dedication to one another and just because he could not adequately explain it that did not mean he wished to impede or hinder their union in any way. Doing so would certainly be injurious to Legolas, who depended almost entirely on Elladan for emotional and physical support.  _Probably will do so for many months to come._  As for his eldest, Elrond could see that he had given over his heart and soul completely and without reservation. Somehow this silvan had ensnared him and to try and break them apart now would wound Elladan just as much.

"Adar," Celonlir broke the short silence and spoke seriously as he met his father's sorrowful gaze. "I have discussed this with Legolas and he has assured me he bears no lingering anger, yet I know it is there. I can see it burning in his eyes when he looks at me. He believes I failed him when I missed that shot. He would not have suffered so much if I had…"

"Silence!" Thranduil thundered out the word and shot up from his chair, fury contorting his features as he glared at Celonlir. Alarmed, Elrond stood and moved to get between them but the King's long arm barred him from taking another step. "Do not ever say such a thing," the King hissed. "If you had succeeded I would never have forgiven you, Celonlir. Legolas will come around in time; after all he would never have found Elladan if you had not missed. I, on the other hand, would not have forgiven you. Ever." He repeated the dire statement vehemently and Celonlir sank down in a chair, too shocked to stand upright longer.

"It was his wish, Ada, he demanded it from me and I could not refuse!" the distraught brother pleaded for understanding.

"I do not care. Call me selfish if you wish; it matters not. I would have my Tuiw Laes alive, no matter his condition," Thranduil resumed his seat, calmer now as he saw the genuine remorse and grief his eldest was suffering over what had befallen his baby brother. "None of what happened was your doing, Celonlir, and you could not have helped him more than you did."

"Your father is correct," added Elrond. "The responsible parties have been destroyed and that deed you may claim as your own, as well as ridding the northern settlements of Eriador of a pestilential evil that has long plagued their harried lives." Elrond sat, too, relieved the pair were not about to come to blows.  _Life in the halls of the Wood Elves' king must be a constant source of dramatic diversion for the silvans._

"That is not what your sons believe," countered Celonlir, more morose than ever.

"What are you talking about?" demanded Thranduil.

"Elladan said the Black Riders only wanted jewels and money. Aragorn thinks it also and thus so must Elrohir. I could have bought Legolas' freedom had I but understood the vile fiends' intent," the elder prince barely whispered these words, so difficult were they to admit. If his father could never forgive him for ending Legolas' life, the punishment for causing him so much agony must be nearly as horrific. Celonlir braced his soul for the worst. To his utter amazement, Thranduil fell upon his knees beside the prince's chair and wrapped him in a tight embrace.

"Ah, Celonlir; so I have failed you also," he whispered brokenly. "How can you hold yourself responsible? Have you not given the answer to these misguided conclusions already? You had no way to know those hybrid men and Orcs would trade an elf for gold and mithril. Such is not in our experience, for the foul demons of Dol Guldur want only to kill and maim. The fault is mine, Ion Vinui, (First Son) if there is any to assign. I should have sent you forth for a time to learn of the ways among our neighbours' realms."

The elder prince exhaled a loud sob and gripped his father tightly for long minutes. When at last they disengaged both had tear-stained faces but smiled nonetheless. Celonlir looked as if he had escaped a terrible doom and could breath again. Hope, though faint and flickering, shone in his dark blue eyes.

"Thank you, Ada," he said and sniffed. "Do you really believe he will forgive me?"

"Of course he will," Thranduil insisted, patting his son's knee as he resumed his place with a slight grunt, for his own knee caps were a bit stiff. He took up the miruvor and finished it off in one gulp. "What do you say we all go down to that Hall of Fire and listen to Lindir's songs for a time," he suggested, turning to Elrond for confirmation.

"An excellent idea," the Lord of Imladris nodded as he rose from his chair and led the way.

Once down on the first floor, the trio had to pass by the doorway to Elladan and Legolas' chambers. Unconsciously, all three elves fell to sneaking, as if their footsteps would bother the newly-bonded couple. Just as they were level with the portal, a subdued peel of high giggles sounded through the solid barrier, followed by the teasing murmur of a fair elven voice in a lower vocal range. The giggles intensified and the elven Lord, the King and his son were quite certain they knew what sort of activity produced that kind of hysterical laughter: Elladan was tickling Legolas unmercifully.

They continued on their way, sharing their mirth over the carefree nature of the beleaguered prince's mood, glad in their hearts that he was on the mend. The merriment stopped abruptly and the trio halted, curious in spite of themselves. Then the door to the couples' chamber was flung wide and Legolas leaned his head out, cheeks flushed, hair mussed, and eyes bright from the recent exercise, Elladan right beside him in pretty much the same state.

"Do you mind if we come along?" the archer asked in a voice more like the one his father was accustomed to hearing. Legolas shared a wide grin with his beloved as soon as he saw his Adar's face light up.

"Certainly you may!" Thranduil enthused and fortunately for Legolas and Elladan the Lord of Imladris blocked him from bustling over and fussing over his convalescent youngest child. "Have you been able to make him eat anything?" Thranduil directed this worried query at his new son-in-law.

"Let him be," scolded Celonlir. "Legolas never eats much anyway. You look better this evening, Tuiw." The elder prince gave his baby brother a hesitant smile.

"I am better, Cel," Legolas answered sincerely. "I meant to give you this before; it is a souvenir of sorts."

He tossed a gleaming metal object to Celonlir who caught it and then caught his breath. It was the point of the arrow he had shot at his brother. The Sindarin prince turned it over and over in his hands, desperately trying to master his emotions, unable to meet his brother's eyes, when Elladan called him from this self-berating fugue.

"Now that is from me, muindor," said Elladan kindly. "I have never thanked you properly for missing your target that day."

Celonlir lifted his face at last and smiled at them but could not manage words just then. No one seemed to expect him to as the couple exited their room and moved slowly into the corridor, Legolas leaning heavily on his mate for support.

"Should be a fun night; Elrohir told us Lindir is going to formally propose to Glorfindel in the form of a lyric allegory. There is a substantial pool accumulating concerning whether or not the mighty warrior will realise he is the subject of this masterpiece, and if so, what his answer will be." Elladan expounded.

That set off a round of argument and joking at the Balrog Slayer's expense that ceased abruptly when he joined them along the way. If he found the numerous questions regarding his opinion and interpretation of various poems odd, well, life in Elrond's household was often odd. Upon reaching the Hall of Fire, they discovered most of the inhabitants already gathered and everyone gave the new couple a warm welcome and toasted their happiness several times.

Aragorn and Arwen gave up their cosy overstuffed armchair so that Elladan could hold Legolas close. Everyone shared tender smiles as the golden-haired elf snuggled up with their Lord's eldest as the usually sombre twin pressed a little kiss to his beloved's temple.

Erestor found his way over to Elrond and the old friends surveyed the scene contentedly. "Two down, Elrond; only one left to fret over now," said the seneschal. Truly he meant it in an encouraging manner, but Elrond's eyes grew wide in startlement and he searched the room frantically for his youngest. His mouth went dry as he spied Arwen, laughing at something Aragorn had just said, letting him lean close to whisper in her ear, his hands resting round her slender waist and hers reposed upon his broad shoulders.

_**METHED  
(The End)** _

**Author's Closing Note:**  The following restrictions/conditions were placed on this story. They have been met as best I could and I hope the result is enjoyable.   
Do NOT show: spanking  
PLEASE show: drugging, pain/comfort moments, agony, ecstasy  
Word/Phrase to include: "Bite me!"  
Items that should appear: rope, miruvor  
Any Special Notes?: No character death please!

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Royal Mirkwood Home Valentine's Fic Challenge 2006. AU, of course. Dedicated to AnarIthilien with much respect and admiration. Fairly standard 'Legolas gets captured, tortured, rescued, and wooed' story. Takes place sometime after TA 2980 but before the Ring Quest, thus Aragorn was often in the wilds among the Rangers but had already pledged his heart to Arwen. Assumes Legolas is young but grown up just because I prefer it that way. Leönalta as one of the Valarindi attached to Námo is purely the writer's invention. Allusion made to Elros and Elrond as twins, with Elros vaguely implied as the elder twin, based on Tolkien's notes published posthumously in "The Lost Road and other Writings", pg. 161.


End file.
